Heir to a Warlord
by OccAmy Phyre
Summary: At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from 6 to 16 years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. dark!Harry - eventual HPDM
1. A Debt :partially: Repaid

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am sitting in an apartment in the middle of a construction zone… bows down to JK Rowling

**_WARNINGS_:** Extreme violence, adult language, rape, non-con, character death (non-main character), drugs, abuse, psychological manipulation, extreme OOC, slash

**A/N:** This idea came to me in the midst of studying for finals. I have a particular interest in Africa varying from politics to agriculture and infectious diseases. I wanted to write a 'realistic' story to show the seedy side of the politics there as well as the dirty things the people get up to. This is in part inspired by the movies 'Blood Diamond', 'Lord of War' and the other recent movies on this very subject.

About two-thirds this story will be about Harry growing up in Somalia and all of the bloody history happening around him. It will eventually be HPDM, but it's going to be a long time in coming. This is a history lesson for all, and a reality check for most. Take the warnings seriously.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**May 1986**

It was a well known fact that Vernon Dursley ran Grunnings, an oil drilling company based out of Nigeria. The Dursleys made sure everyone knew about their success. What was _not_ well known, however, was precisely how the company started. Most people assumed that the initial capital came from a bank or a family loan, the _normal _way people obtained money. The Dursleys did what they could to encourage those rumors because if people had known the truth, they would have looked upon the well manicured, _normal_ house in horror. The quiet little neighborhood would have been rife with gossip about how the Dursleys had sold themselves to the Devil himself.

As it was, the cookie cutter, suburban neighborhood had little to gossip about until one evening when a shiny black limousine pulled up to Number 4 Privet Drive and several black men in expensive black suits stepped out. They were all very curious as to why their quiet neighbors had such august guests and telephones up and down the street were ringing with rumors as to who these men were. The fact that these guests were black in a predominantly white area only fueled the gossip.

Unlike his neighbors, Vernon Dursley was not in the least bit curious as to why these men had appeared. He was terrified. He had known who he had signed a deal with all those years ago in order to borrow the money for his company, but at the time he had thought nothing of it. He did not truly realize how dangerous these men were and the reality of what reneging on their deal would mean.

Idris Nasri Abri was well known in the underworld as a ruthless man; it was the only way he had survived and thrived all his years. He had grown from a child begging for food in the gutters of Mogadishu to the Warlord he was today. His trials were written all over his face. He had several scars on his dark, smooth skin, the most predominant of which looked rather new. It ran down from the bridge of his nose to bottom of his cheek bone on the left side of his face. He had gotten that scar from the attack that took his wife and son six months previously and wore it as a reminder of what he had to live for.

The Warlord ruled over the southern portion of Mogadishu, Somalia with an iron fist, both via war and economics. He had his fingers dipped into pots all over Africa and had funded his empire through these ventures. Part of the reason he was so successful, other than his high level of innate intelligence, was his reputation for showing no mercy. People simply did **not** renege on their contracts with him. This was precisely why he and his associates were in Little Whinging that evening. He had lent money to Vernon Dursley and had not received any payment in return. He knew the company was doing well and even if it hadn't been, there still would have been no excuse.

Petunia regained her composure more quickly than her husband, perhaps not recognizing the gravity of the situation and plastered a smile over her horse-like face.

"Gentlemen, would you care to join us for dinner?" Petunia gestured towards the dining room just off of the kitchen.

Idris gave a half bow and responded in his rich tones, "We would be honored."

Petunia turned to two boys previously unnoticed by the group. One boy was the epitome of the word corpulent, his chins dwarfing his excessively round face. Idris estimated that he was around six years of age and briefly wondered if the boy would surpass his father in size before his majority.

The other boy, however, could not have been any different even if he tried. He looked a couple years younger than the first boy, probably no older than four. His young age was made even more obvious by the clothes he appeared to be swimming in. While the first boy looked dangerously overfed, this one was simply emaciated looking more like he belonged to a refugee camp than the affluent neighborhood in which he lived. Looking at the boy's face, Idris was startled by bright green eyes ringed by ugly glasses that looked far older than they should. The child's dark mop of hair was wild and covered most of his forehead, but couldn't cover the entirety of the dark scar marring his right brow. Idris was curious as to what would mark the face of a child so young.

"Duddikins, weren't you supposed to be visiting Piers tonight?" Petunia asked, her voice sounding very strained.

The pig-like boy looked at her, obviously confused, "But…"

"Remember?" Petunia interrupted, "you were supposed to go 15 minutes ago. Give Piers a call! Don't worry about coming back late. In fact, why don't you stay the night?" Petunia pushed Dudley up the stairs. Idris was amused, having seen this reaction from many parents when visiting. They were worried that he was a danger to their children, something that never ceased to entertain his entourage.

Once Petunia and Dudley disappeared up the stairs Vernon seemed to snap back to reality. "Umm… would you like something to drink?"

Idris looked at the nervous man appraisingly, enjoying how the silence seemed to unnerve him, "Yes, please."

Vernon turned and barked at the waif-like child, "Boy, go fetch five glasses and a bottle of Martell."

Idris raised an eyebrow, curious as to how a child would know different liquor names. He had originally assumed that the Dursleys had two sons, but after seeing the dichotomy of treatment he wondered just who this owlish child was.

"Right this way, gentlemen." Vernon led the group into the living room and gestured to a gaudy sofa, sitting himself in a matching arm chair. The men stared at each other for a few minutes, Idris and his associates amused by Vernon's fidgeting, until the green eyed boy walked awkwardly into the room, his hands filled with glasses.

"Where have you been, boy?" Vernon snapped while the child placed the tumblers on the coffee table. He flinched but did not respond and proceeded to serve them each two fingers of cognac. The men thanked him, bringing a tiny smile to his face which lasted until Vernon snatched the remaining glass out of his small hands.

"Go tend dinner. I expect it to be finished in half an hour," Vernon snapped after downing half his drink.

Idris had to strain to hear the quiet "Yes, Uncle" that slipped past the boy's lips. He watched as the child left the room and turned back to Vernon.

"Who is that child?" Idris asked, his simmering anger unnoticed by the fat man sitting across for him. While he did use children in his militias he could not abide by familial abuse. It infuriated him even more that this child seemed to be targeted while the other was spoilt. It didn't escape his notice that while the walls seemed papered with photos of the obese blond child, there wasn't one photo of the green eyed boy.

Vernon glared at the door the young waif had left through before answering. "He is my good for nothing nephew," he spat. "We were saddled with him after his alcoholic father managed to kill himself and his whore of a wife while drink driving."

Idris leaned back with a speculative look on his face. His associates knew this look well and took over the conversation making small talk while he pondered the information Vernon had given him. People never realized truly how much their actions said about them. This man obviously had little respect for family, something Idris prized both due to his childhood and now his late wife and son. He had recently lost them in a bombing meant to target him from a rival Warlord and he took a personal affront to how Vernon treated his nephew.

While Idris was undeniably cruel, he felt a strange sort of empathy for this child. He had been orphaned really young and for the short amount of time that he was in an orphanage he had been no better than a slave. While Little Whinging was nothing like Mogadishu, the boy's life wasn't that dissimilar from his as a child. The scar on the child's forehead helped solidify the bond he felt with him. Few adults had had childhoods that could mar their face and they truly didn't understand what it meant to those that had. This boy's treatment was absolutely inexcusable.

Idris was broken out of his thoughts when the waif announced dinner and promptly ushered them to the small dining room. The affair was certainly simpler than the meals to which he was accustomed at his mansion in Mogadishu, but he couldn't believe that a four year old child was capable of cooking it. There was a basic roast, slathered in a variety of herbs and slices of lemon as well as sides of bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding and black pudding. Idris noted that there was a dearth of vegetables, unsurprising given the size of the father and son. For dessert there was treacle tart and custard, making Idris wonder just how often the child cooked for the family. No child should be able to make all of these dishes and he knew Petunia did not help since she was in the sitting room with them the entire time.

The group ate in silence, occasionally broken by the child asking if they wanted more wine. Soon the meal was finished and they made their way back to the sitting room while the boy began to pick up the dishes. Idris asked where he could find the restroom and made his way into the kitchen.

"Hello child, what is your name?" Idris asked, visibly startling the boy. The waif's eyes widened and darted about before settling back on the strange man. He kneeled down to the boy's eye level, hoping to calm him before continuing, "I will not hurt you child. What is your name?"

"Umm... H-Harry Potter, sir."

"It is nice to meet you Harry Potter. My name is Idris Nasri Abri. May I ask you a few questions?"

Harry's bright green eyes darted around a little more, almost seeming afraid to be speaking to this man, "I-I guess."

The man nodded and smiled. "How old are you?"

"Almost six," the boy responded, relaxing a little.

Idris was surprised. He could have sworn the child was much younger. "When is your birthday?"

The boy furrowed his dark brows, obviously trying to remember something that should have been easy to recall, "Not sure, I think July 31st. I get more Dudley's clothes."

Idris carefully kept his face pleasant. 'Well that explains why his clothing is so large' he seethed.

"Do you like living here Harry?" The child visibly stiffened, his eyes widening to the point that they seemed to fill his taped up glasses. He was gaping and obviously didn't know how to respond to the man's request. "Don't worry child, I won't tell your Aunt and Uncle what you say."

Harry's eyes began darting about, obviously afraid that someone was going to jump out of the cupboards at him. Idris had to strain to hear the tiny reply. "N-n-no…"

Idris nodded and smiled again, trying to put the child at ease, "If you could, would you leave here to live elsewhere?"

The child appeared terrified but seemed to gather himself up before answering, "Y-yes."

Idris nodded, "I'll see what I can do about that." His smile widened at Harry's surprised and hopeful face before standing up and making his way back to the sitting room.

The room was tense with silence as he made his way in, bringing a malicious smirk to Idris' face. He disliked the Dursleys and was looking forward to dealing with them.

"Well," he began as he relaxed into an armchair, "where shall we start? I loaned you 300,000 pounds a little more than a decade ago with the understanding that you would be paying it off within ten years, with interest of course." He paused to let the man nod stupidly before continuing, "So why have you not fulfilled your end of the bargain, Mr. Dursley?"

Vernon gaped like a fish as he attempted to cobble together an excuse. "Well… we've been having a little problem with our finances. We haven't been making as much profit as expected and I was hoping for a little more time," he trailed off at the cruel smirk that made its way across Idris' face.

Idris took the folder one of his associates handed him and leafed through its contents, "It looks to me like you've been doing well enough, Mr. Dursley. Well enough, in fact, that you've taken a month's vacation every year to stay in various houses that you've bought in," Idris paused as he pulled out a particular page, "Barcelona, Martinique, New Zealand and the Philippines." He looked back up at Vernon, enjoying the way the blood drained out of the man's face as he began stuttering.

"T-t-those were all for b-business trips, I swear!"

Idris raised an eyebrow and made a noncommittal noise before pulling out a few pictures that one of his associates had taken. "I didn't know that you took your family on business trips or that you conducted said business over suntan lotion on the beaches of Australia."

He handed the photos over to Vernon and leaned back, watching the expressions of panic that came over the man's face. Vernon looked at him, eyes wide in terror before stuttering out, "What are you going to do to me?"

Idris appeared to think it over before responding, dragging out the moment to further unnerve the man. "Well, I could easily take your home but I have far more resplendent places than this. I have no interest in your cars or the yacht you have moored at Cardiff." He paused to enjoy the red flush creeping into Vernon Dursley's face and the look of abject horror on Petunia's.

"I think," Idris continued, "that we can make a deal." He smirked at the relief that the Dursleys exuded. "First, I will be taking all of your 'summer homes', as well as the yacht of course. I like a couple of the locations you have chosen and can sell the rest for a decent profit. I will put off the deadline for repayment by ten years, but only on one condition."

The Dursleys were obviously unhappy but nodded in assent, "Yes?"

"I want both your son and nephew. They would make good additions to my militia." Idris enjoyed the absolute shock and terror that suffused both parents' faces.

"No!" Petunia yelled. "Not my baby! Take the boy, do whatever you want with him, but please leave my precious Duddikins!" She turned and sobbed into Vernon's shoulder as he blustered.

"Not my son!" he shouted. "You can take the boy, but don't take my son!"

Idris allowed the begging to continue for another few minutes before he raised his hand to silence them. Scratching the stubble on his chin he continued, "I suppose I can leave your son, but only if you pay off the debt in two years." He paused while watching the Dursleys turn a variety of colors, "Well? What's it going to be? Your son or ten years to pay off the debt?"

Vernon shook himself out of his shock before answering hurriedly, "Take my nephew, but leave my son and I'll have your money in two years."

Idris smiled maliciously, "Deal. So I will be taking your properties, your nephew and you have two more years to pay off the debt." Vernon looked like he was sucking on a lemon but nodded his assent.

"Well, go fetch the child. I do not have all night," Idris demanded imperiously. He smiled as Vernon and Petunia practically ran out of the room and turned to his associates who were smirking at him.

_"You never intended to take the son, did you Boss?"_

_"No, I didn't. What would I do with a tub of lard? That thing wouldn't survive two days with the militia."_

One of his men looked at him, obviously confused, _"And the waif? He looks like he would barely survive one day."_

Idris' smile softened before he responded, _"No, he won't be in the militia. I don't want another wife so I'm certainly not going to have another son. No, he's not going to be a soldier; he is going to be my heir."_

* * *

**Idris**: Arabic and Welsh origins. In Arabic it means 'a good man', a name a parent likely would give a child, but in Welsh it means 'a fiery, impulsive lord', perfect for a Warlord.  
**Nasri:** Arabic; victory.  
**Abri:** Arabic; servant of god.

**A/N:** I realize that Grunnings is a drill-_making_ company, not a drilling company but I adapted it so that Idris would have a reason to be interested in investing in the company. I also made Vernon the founder of the company instead of director so that he'd have a reason to be dealing with Idris personally.

Somalia is rife with warlords and anarchy, making it the perfect setting for Idris' fiefdom. Mogadishu is the capital of Somalia and from what I've read of most recently is ruled over by eight warlords. During the time setting of this story there was a government, of sorts. However, now there is none.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Welcome to Mogadishu

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling

**A/N:** I will be incorporating as much of Somalia's real timeline as I can. Anything having to do with Idris and his regime will be fictional, but highly based on fact. I _will _be tweaking the Somalis' reaction to homosexuality and magic, both of which currently garner a death sentence.

Lastly, thank you _so much_ to Mou'Ikka for correcting my usage of Somali.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**May 1986**

Harry didn't know what was going on. The night before he had finished washing the dishes from dinner, after having gobbled what food there was left over, when his uncle came blustering in ranting about finally getting rid of him. Before he knew what was happening, he was forcefully shoved out of the house and into the hands of these strange men. After a silent car ride he was ushered into a very expensive hotel and ended up sleeping in a suite with the man with a scar across his face. He had been woken up and dressed in his hand-me-downs that he had worn the day before and after a quiet breakfast found himself guided back into the limousine.

He wanted to ask where they were going, but he had learned to not ask any questions; they usually led to very painful results and no answers. Instead, he stared out the windows and watched the largest buildings he had ever seen pass by. One right after another, buildings were butted up against each other, each a different color and covered with windows. He thought it was a beautiful mosaic. Numerous cars lined the streets and Harry couldn't help but press his nose up against the window when a large red double-decker bus drove by.

And the people! They were all over the streets! People of all shapes and sizes were carrying bags and chatting with each other. Harry watched as they drove by a group of teenagers with colorful hair, including one that had his hair standing straight up from his head. People were smiling and laughing with each other as they walked along the streets. Harry couldn't help but wonder who these people were and where they were going.

He hesitated and then decided to test the waters. Vernon hadn't allowed any questions, but maybe these men would. "Umm… where are we?" he asked the man with the scar across his face, 'Idris' he remembered.

The man smiled at him and Harry found himself relaxing, "We're in London. We are going to get you some clothing before we finish our errands."

Harry stared at him, "Clothes? You want to buy me clothes? My own?" He flinched as he saw a hard glint enter the man's eyes.

Idris' eyes narrowed and then softened when he saw Harry recoil. "Yes, your own clothing. You're not going to wear your cousin's clothing ever again."

Harry's eyes lit up in excitement as he looked back out the window. He was in London and he was going to get his own clothes!

* * *

Idris sighed as he watched Harry being measured by the clothier. He knew that Harry had been mistreated and personally knew what it was like to grow up in a harsh environment, but seeing the child's reactions had been difficult to handle. While most children his age would be asking endless questions, yammering on about anything and everything, Harry said very little. He spoke when spoken to, but had only once said anything without prompting. If someone made any sudden moves or looked angry in any way he would recoil as if preparing to be struck.

Idris knew that he had his work cut out for him. He wanted to pull this green-eyed child out of his shell and didn't quite know how to go about it. His own son had been very outspoken. He figured that patience and reassurance was probably the best way to go and prepared himself for the long haul.

"Sir?" the clothier interrupted his thoughts. "We are done with the measurements. What clothes do you want for the child?"

Idris thought for a moment about what would be needed for the next couple of days. They only needed enough clothing to last until his seamstresses at the manor were able to make more clothing for Harry.

"I think four pairs of slacks, two khaki, one wool and one linen, both black. We need matching shirts, four again. I think green and black. One silk and one cotton in each color. Six pairs underwear and six pairs of socks. We also need a set of pyjamas." After looking at Harry's feet Idris continued, "Do you have shoes by chance?"

The clothier finished writing down the instructions and looked back up at Idris. "Yes, sir. Would you like for me to retrieve someone for you?"

"Yes, please."

The clothier stepped out of the room and Idris turned to Harry who was sitting on the sofa next to him. "How are you feeling Harry?"

The boy looked up at him with wide green eyes before stuttering out an answer, "S-strange, sir."

Idris smiled. "What do you find strange, child?"

Harry furrowed his brows in thought before answering his question, obviously hesitant to say anything. "Umm… well the man is weird," he said as gesturing to the door the clothier had exited through. Idris let out a low chuckle which startled the boy.

"I have to agree with you," Idris said, trying to draw the child further into the conversation.

Buoyed by the response Harry continued, "He put that measure thing everywhere. Why did he do that?"

"Well," Idris began, "We needed all your measurements for the clothes. We have to make sure they fit you properly before you wear them. The clothes you have on are hideously large."

Harry looked at him strangely, "I never had fitting clothes. My Aunt gave me Dudley's. She said it was a waste of money to get me clothes."

Idris stifled his urge to glare. He hoped that the Dursleys defaulted on their loan to him. He would take great pleasure in taking the money out of their hides.

Harry looked like he was about to say something else but another man entered the room.

"Hello, my name is Angelo. I was told that you need some shoes?"

"Yes," Idris replied. "Harry here needs some shoes that fit properly. I think a pair of trainers and some black dress shoes will do."

Angelo nodded before turning to Harry. "It is nice to meet you Harry. Is it all right if I measure your feet?"

Harry looked incredulous, "More measure? What else is to measure?"

Both Angelo and Idris couldn't help but laugh and even a couple of the guards stationed around the room let out a quiet chuckle.

"I assure you, little sir, that there is always more to measure." Angelo knelt down and took one of Harry's feet in his hands, dutifully ignoring the state of his shoes. They were Dudley's old trainers. They had originally been white, but now they were grey and brown and the soles were close to falling completely off. Angelo removed both shoes, obviously intent on burning them as soon as he could before he began measuring Harry's bare feet.

'Yes, we definitely need to get him some socks,' Idris thought, another flare of anger flowing through him. 'How can someone treat their own family like this?'

"Hey! That tickles!" Harry exclaimed between giggles. Angelo couldn't help but attack his feet at this remark and Harry burst into full out laughter. "Stop! Stop! I give!"

Idris smiled. He was glad that the Dursleys hadn't been able to fully break the boy yet. 'Maybe it won't take as long as I thought.'

After another half hour the group left the shop, Harry having hugged both the clothier and Angelo, much to their amusement. They had obviously enjoyed dressing the boy up. He was wearing black wool pants and a green silk shirt that matched his eyes. Angelo had fun putting all sorts of different shoes on Harry's feet causing a never ending stream of giggles.

Harry hesitantly looked up at Idris and said in a small voice, "Thank you, sir."

Idris smiled down at the child, "You're welcome, Harry."

* * *

After several more days and a million more stops, Harry was ushered onto a plane at a large airport. He had heard of planes before but had never seen one. Some of them were huge! He couldn't understand just how they stayed up in the air. It must've been so heavy.

They walked out of one of the terminals and entered a fairly small plane. The interior was gorgeous and there were about a dozen seats in all. The flight attendant smiled at him and sat him down near the back between the window and Idris. She asked if he wanted any juice before take off but he declined and waited for the plane to move, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement. Every once in a while he would glance at Idris who was watching him and smiling.

Finally the plane taxied out and took off. Harry found it completely exhilarating. He didn't expect the sheer amount of force that pressed him into his seat and was amazed by how fast they were going.

He watched out the window as the ground moved away from them, the buildings getting smaller and smaller until they looked as large as ants. Harry couldn't believe how large London was. It looked like it went on forever!

"Is that all London?" he asked Idris, bouncing in his seat and staring out the window.

"Yes, it is," Idris answered, his amusement obvious in his voice.

Soon the city gave way to farm land and Harry found himself drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Harry startled when a pair of hands were shaking him out of his sleep. He looked up with wide eyes to see Idris leaning over him, his scar shining in the low light of the plane.

"Morning, sleepy head. We've arrived in Mogadishu," Idris said, smiling.

Harry shook himself out of his slumber and followed Idris up the aisle, pausing to thank the flight attendant who couldn't help but smile at the polite boy.

As he climbed down the steps onto the runway, Harry glanced around at the 'airport'. His eyes widened at how different it was from the airport in London. There was no terminal to be seen, only a runway. The airstrip was surrounded by barren land, dotted by occasional brush and debris. In front of him was a line of vehicles. There were trucks at the front and back with men standing in the beds with heavy artillery. In the middle were several black armoured cars. Harry found himself ushered into one of the cars in the center and scooted across the seat to the far side. Idris climbed in behind him, settling down in the seat next to him. Across from them were two men with rather large guns in their laps.

After a few minutes wait the car turned on and they took off. It seemed like forever to Harry before they started encountering buildings; or rather, what was left of buildings. Harry scooted up next to the window to get a better view. One out of every three or four buildings seemed to be standing, and it usually had its windows blown out. Most of the buildings were in ruins, a wall standing here and there surrounded by grey rubble. The further they got into what Harry figured was a city, the more destruction there was. Fewer and fewer buildings were still standing with a few outcroppings of houses.

Very few people were on the street and those who were, were either engaged in gunfire or dead. Harry couldn't help but stare at the people in various states of decay. There were men, women and children, some looking like they had been torn apart by wild dogs with arms, legs, and in one case, half their face missing.

He saw one man lying in the street with his arm and one boot missing. He wondered what could have happened to the boot. Why would anyone want a single boot? As they drove further down the street he saw a group of people shooting at each other. He looked at the men, wondering why some of them had shaved heads and others wore long hair. One man was even wearing a garish floral shirt. Harry couldn't help but stare as a red stain spread across the shirt, blood blotting out the flowers. The man fell and was completely ignored by his comrades. Harry found it interesting that this man was also missing his shoes.

"What are you thinking, Harry?"

He looked at Idris and tried to determine what he should say. He furrowed his brows before answering, "I don't know, sir. This is confusing."

Idris laughed and smiled down at Harry, "I'm sure it is. I'll explain everything when we get to my manor."

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Harry observing the dead and wondering what had happened to kill so many people, and why were they still lying in the streets. Where were their families? And why didn't any of them have shoes?

Soon they pulled up to a gate, the only entrance into a compound that was surrounded by solid concrete. Some more men armed with guns stood at the gate and checked the cars before they were allowed in. They drove up a long driveway, finally reaching the largest house Harry had ever seen. It was a dirty white color and looked like it had been fashioned after the Romans with its columns and statues.

Idris ushered Harry out of the armoured car and up into the manor, leading him down spectacular gilded hallways with numerous paintings and sculptures. He was lead through a door into what looked like a study before being sat down on a plush red sofa. Idris gestured for their guards to stand outside the door before shutting it and sitting down in a matching armchair across from him.

"So," Idris began, "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here?" He paused, waiting for Harry's nod before continuing, "Several months ago there was an attack that ended up killing both my wife and my only son. It was set up by another Warlord and was actually meant to target me. We were at the airport when a person ran up to us and triggered a bomb that he had strapped to his body. I was thrown back and caught shrapnel across my face," he paused and ran a finger down the scar across the bridge of his nose and cheek. "Unfortunately, my wife and son were not that lucky. They caught the brunt of the explosion. My son died instantly, thankfully, but my wife ended up dying several hours later."

Harry began hesitantly. "My parents died in a car accident. I was one. I lived. They didn't. I got this scar," he raised his fringe, showing the lightning bolt scar that marred his forehead. He was surprised when this brought a smile to Idris' face.

"I guess we're more alike then I had originally imagined. But enough of this melancholy stuff. The past is the past. I was going to explain to you why I took you from your Aunt and Uncle's." Idris stood and poured himself a glass of what Harry recognised as Remy Martin X.O., the one bottle he was not allowed to touch because his Uncle said that he couldn't trust him with something so expensive. "You remind me of myself when I was young. I had a very tough childhood and I feel a certain sort of kinship with you. Because of this, I decided to bring you here and raise you as my heir, my son."

Harry's eyes widened at this statement. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting him like that, "What you want with me? I'm worthless!" He was startled when Idris began to growl.

"You are _not_ worthless and you will never say such a thing again, understood?" He waited for Harry's nod before continuing, "I want to raise you as my son and heir, if you are willing."

Harry sat for a few minutes, thinking about what Idris wanted. This man had been incredibly kind to him; far nicer than anyone had ever been before. He had taken him away from his abusive relatives, clothed him in the nicest clothes Harry had ever seen, and fed him. For the first time in his life he knew what it was like to be comfortable, well rested and full. He wanted to thank this man in whatever way he could and if he wanted him as a son, then so be it.

A small smile spread across Harry's face as he looked back up at Idris, "Yes, sir. I want to stay here. With you. If you want me, I'll be your son."

Idris smiled brilliantly, "Well then! You can just call me aabbe, that means father in Somali. I will talk to you more about the expectations I have of you and the tuition you will have here in the morning. For now, you need to go to bed."

After motioning for Harry to stay seated, Idris stood up to open the door and spoke to one of the guards in a rapid language Harry did not recognise. When he reentered the room he was followed by two men in black military clothing and large guns strapped to their backs.

"Harry, I would like you to meet Asad and Roble. They will be your personal guard. You will not go anywhere without one of them if not both."

Harry looked at the men, trying to memorise their faces, "Nice to meet you." Asad was a tall, thin man with features that spoke of both African and Arabian decent. His brown eyes were wide set and he had a sharp nose and chin. His café au lait skin was smooth, belying his profession.

In contrast, Roble was shorter and thicker. He had a round face with wide nose and lips. His skin and eyes were almost midnight black. Harry hadn't known a person could get so dark. Both men had their heads shaved and while they exuded danger, Harry felt strangely comfortable around them.

Harry's attention was drawn back to Idris when he continued speaking, "Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

Harry couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes, "I get my own room?"

He flinched at the sharp glint that sparked in Idris' eyes but relaxed when he softened with a smile. "Harry, you will never want for anything here. Not food, not clothing. Nothing."

He turned and led Harry out of the room and down another lavishly decorated hall while the guards trailed behind. The halls seemed endless and he was hopelessly lost by the time Idris stopped in front of a large set of double doors.

"I will never find my way out!" Harry exclaimed before flinching, expecting to get hit for his outburst. His was shocked when instead of a hand, he heard Idris laugh.

"Don't worry, maandhow wiilkeyga, Asad and Roble know their way around." He opened the doors and stepped into a room that must have been as large as the Dursleys' entire house. Harry's eyes were wide as he took in the luxurious room and the overly large bed. He was brought out of his daze by Idris.

"You will be rising at six every morning. Ayann will be waking you until your body adjusts to the schedule. She will be attending your needs when they arise. You are to bathe every morning and evening. Breakfast will be at half past six in the dining room. We don't have many clothes for you yet, but what we do have is in the dresser over there. You are to dress appropriately dependent on what we are doing that day. Ayann will assist you in choosing what to wear until you become familiar with our sartorial customs. For tonight, you will wear the pyjamas in the second draw. Any questions?"

Harry shook his head, still dazed by the opulent surroundings.

"Very good. Tonight, don't worry about bathing. It is late and I'm sure you are very tired. Either Asad or Roble will be stationed outside your room at all times so if you need anything, let one of them know. Have a good night, Harry."

Harry shook himself out of his daze and threw his arms around Idris, "Goodnight, Aabbe."

Idris was momentarily shocked before raising his arms hesitantly and wrapping them around Harry briefly. Uncomfortable with the contact, he quickly untangled himself from the child and left the room, giving rapid instructions to the guards in an unknown language.

When the doors shut, Harry walked over to the dresser and changed into his pyjamas before hesitating at the edge of the bed. He had never had his own bed before, well unless you counted the thin mattress on the floor in the cupboard as a bed. He was afraid of messing the gorgeous bed up. It was done up with a huge downy comforter and pillows. As he climbed on the squishy bed he wondered if the bed was going to suffocate him, it was so fluffy. He burrowed down under the sheets, surrounding himself with pillows and fell asleep smiling.

* * *

Harry was in the middle of a wonderful dream. He was surrounded by a bunch of people he had been playing with before one small boy looked at him and said in a rather feminine voice, "Farsameeye Yar, it's time to wake up." He looked at the boy strangely. "Farsameeye Yar, it is morning. You need bathe before breakfast."

Harry started to stir, wondering why his aunt would be talking about bathing before breakfast, he always cooked for them first, and why she suddenly had a thick rolling accent. As he came back to consciousness, he noticed that he wasn't on a hard mattress and was instead very warm and surrounded by a comforter. Confused, he opened his eyes to see a woman standing ar the edge of the bed.

She smiled at him again. "Good morning Farsameeye Yar, my name is Ayann. I am your… adeegto" she trailed off, struggling to find the right word in English, "I think maid in English?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked for his glasses. He put them on and looked at the woman sitting next to the bed. She had a warm smile on her thin, mocha colored face. She was covered from neck to toe in a loose dress and a scarf was tied around her head and neck. The only parts of her that were visible were her face and finger tips. He sat up and looked at the strange woman, very confused.

"What did you call me?" He asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Farsameeye Yar," she said. "'Master Little' in Somali. I have bath draw. Please follow."

Harry rose obediently, following her across the room through a door he had not noticed the night before. He walked in behind her and his eyes widened as he saw the size of the bathroom. It was easily the size of the Dursleys' master bedroom. It was tiled floor to ceiling with white tiles with an occasional green tile thrown in. There was a door on the far side of the room with a lavish sink next to it. Other than that, the majority of the room was taken up with a _huge_ bath. It was made out of green porcelain that matched the tiles and was full with sudsy water.

Ayann was standing at the side of the tub her arms folded. They stared at each other for a few minutes before she smiled and broke the silence.

"Not get in?" She asked, her voice rich with an accent.

Harry stared at her in shock, "You want me naked in front of you??"

"Yes," she replied, looking quite confused. "How else I bathe you?"

Harry's hands came up in front of him and he stepped back, as if to ward her off, "Bathe me?! Why bathe me?"

"I don't understand. I say it wrong? You get in the tub so I wash you." She made the motion of scrubbing with her hands and the wash cloth she was holding, trying to get her point across.

Harry shook his head at her, "Why?"

She looked at him, her brows furrowed. "Because I must. In bath, please," she gestured to the tub, her English obviously beginning to break down.

Harry looked at her warily. He knew he had to take a bath before breakfast and obviously he couldn't get rid of her, so he had the choice of either upsetting Idris or taking the bath. The man had been so nice to him and Harry didn't want to disappoint him.

He turned around before stripping, trying to pretend she wasn't there. By the time he got into the tub his entire body was flush in embarrassment. He relaxed when he felt the hot water. It felt so good! His aunt had never allowed him to use the hot water when he showered, saying it was a waste. He didn't know a bath could feel this good. He was startled out of his pleasurable trance and his blush deepened as Ayann started running a wash cloth over him. He shut his eyes tightly trying to pretend it wasn't happening. He had never been touched this much in his life, or at least the part he could remember.

Thankfully the woman was very efficient and he soon found himself led out of the tub and toweled off, never having opened his eyes. Ayann led him back into his room over to a chair where she had laid out a pair of slacks and a black button up shirt. He jumped and opened his eyes when she started dressing him and was incredibly grateful when the whole ordeal was over. He had never been that exposed to someone before.

He was sat down in front of a mirror and Ayann took a brush to his hair. The battle was almost violent as she did her best to tame his wild black locks, but in the end the hair was victorious. She threw her hands up, muttering something in a language Harry recognised as the one Idris had been speaking the night before. She kept grumbling to herself as she tidied him up and eventually stood in front of him.

"You are handsome! Time go," she led him out of his bedroom where Asad and Roble were waiting.

"Good morning Farsameeye Yar. Did you sleep well?" The thick set man asked. 'Roble', he remembered.

He nodded and looked down, still flushed with embarrassment. His guards led him down a series of hallways before ushering him into a room with a long table and several chairs. At the end of it Idris sat, nursing a drink.

Harry sat down next to Idris, looking at the table and attempting to sit up straight. He might be embarrassed but he didn't want to give Idris a reason to send him back.

"Good morning Harry, why are you so flushed?"

Harry glanced up at him and flushed deeper before mumbling out a response.

"You will always speak clearly Harry. Mumbling is not allowed," Idris rebuked gently.

After sitting up straighter and clearing his throat Harry responded, "I have never been washed before."

If possible, he turned redder as Idris laughed. "You'll get used to it, I promise. While we are alone it is fine to skip any titles, but in front of other people you are to call me either sir, Aabbe, or Father. You will learn when it is appropriate to use which one." After Harry nodded he signaled a man in a crisp suit by the door and soon food was brought to the table.

There were a variety of dishes that Harry almost recognised except for a few minor differences. Idris took the time to point out each dish and tell him the name for it. One plate had what looked like pancakes, but they were thinner and lighter in color. Idris called them 'canjeero'. The bowl with what looked like porridge was 'mishaari' and the dish of eggs with onion, tomatoes and some sort of meat was 'shakshuka'. Harry later found out that it was actually goat meat.

After dishing up some of the food, Idris spoke, "I wanted to take this time to tell you what you'll be doing here in the next year."

Harry's ears perked up and he listened to his aabbe very hard.

Idris smiled at him and continued, "As I told you last night, every morning you will rise at six and bathe before meeting me here, in the dining room for breakfast. After we break fast, you will proceed to the library where you will learn our languages. You will first learn Somali and once you master that you will move onto Arabic. For each language you will be given a week to learn the basics. After that everyone will be instructed to only speak in that language. It is easiest to learn a new tongue by immersion than anything else.

"After language lessons, you will come back to this room for lunch with me at noon before proceeding to your other lessons. These lessons will be in various places depending on the subject you are covering that day. You will be learning maths, literature, business, politics and culture. After that you will be going to the formal dining hall for dinner at five. We will often have guests during dinner so you will be expected to dress formally. After dinner you will be spending time with me until bed at nine. When you master both Somali and Arabic your language lessons will be replaced with martial arts lessons. Do you have any questions?"

Harry hesitated and started to mumble something before clearing his throat and beginning again, "What will we do at night?"

Idris smiled, grateful for the fact that Harry was so amenable despite what happened to make him this way. "You and I will do various things. We'll talk, play games, read, watch movies, whatever you want to do. It is time for the two of us to spend together."

Harry smiled back, "I would like that, Aabbe."

Idris' smile widened at the endearment and they finished their breakfast in silence. After all the dishes had been cleared away he stood and spoke again.

"Today you will be spending the entire time learning Somali. It is imperative that you learn it quickly so try your best to get all the basics down. Tomorrow you will start the rest of your tuition."

Harry nodded eagerly; he really wanted to impress the man that had been so kind to him. "Yes, Aabbe. I will do my best."

"I'm sure you will, maandhow wiilkeyga." Idris ruffled Harry's hair, wondering why Ayann hadn't brushed it. He would have to speak with her.

Harry bounded away enthusiastically, following Roble to the library as Asad walked behind him. He really wanted to make his father proud and was eager to begin.

* * *

**Aabbe:** Father

**Maandhow wiilkeyga****: **Son; used when speaking to the son. Pronounced 'Maandow Wheelkayga'.

**Asad:** African name; lion.

**Roble:** African name; born during the rains or rainy season.

**Ayann:** African name; beautiful blossom.

**Farsameeye Yar:** Little Master

**Adeegto:** Maid


	3. Pain and Prejudice

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling

_Thank you_ to Mou'Ikka for helping me with Somali language and culture!

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**October 1986**

_"__Good morning Harry, I trust you slept well?"_ Idris asked, his morning tea warming his hands.

_"__Yes, Father."_ Harry sat down to breakfast, spooning himself some mishaari.

Idris nodded and closed his eyes. Harry had gotten used to his aabbe's morning ritual. He would greet him as he came in, but then there was to be silence until he got through his first cup of tea. Harry didn't know if he was waiting for the caffeine to hit or if it was just something he did to center himself; a sort of meditation.

After another several minutes Idris placed his cup down on the table in front of him and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. Harry noticed how serious his aabbe was being and placed his utensils down and focused his entire attention on him.

_"__Your language teacher has informed me that you've come very far in your lessons in the last five months. He tells me that you speak both Somali and Arabic better than most of the pupils he's had."_

Harry smiled at the praise which was hard won by both his teacher and his aabbe. _"I glad please you, Father."_

Idris nodded, _"I **am **glad **to **please you', Harry."_

_"__I am glad to please you, Father,"_ Harry repeated. He had come a long way in his language studies but still occasionally made mistakes.

_"__I told you when you first came here that once your tutor was satisfied with your proficiency in both Somali and Arabic then the language classes would be replaced by combat lessons."_

Harry was practically bouncing in his seat. He knew something was going to happen today after Ayann had set out a pair of loose fitting, white, drawstring pants and a fitted white tee. Usually he wore slacks and button ups of different colors. He had been looking forward to training in martial arts. He knew his aabbe placed a lot of value on combat and wanted to do well and make him proud.

Idris raised an eyebrow at his exuberance and Harry quickly calmed down. His aabbe had made it clear that he was to act as befitting an heir to his kingdom, not as a six year old child. In the evenings his aabbe would occasionally let him play to his heart's content but that was only allowed if he behaved himself in every other situation.

Idris nodded after Harry had calmed down and continued, _"This morning you will be starting you training with Mujahid, a combat specialist. He will be your instructor until he has determined that you have learned all that you can from him, understood?"_

Harry nodded obediently, _"Yes, Father."_

_"__Good. I will show you where you will be meeting with him from here on out."_ Idris rose, leaving the room without seeing if Harry was following him.

Harry had gotten more familiar with the layout of the manor in the five months he had lived there but Idris was leading him into an area he had never been before. It was decorated differently than the gilded corridors he had grown used to. Instead of classic paintings and sculptures, modern art decorated the halls, each one a different colour theme. They traveled through red, orange and green corridors before stopping at a plain door in a dark blue hallway. Roble and Asad took their normal guard positions, flanking the door and one of Idris' guards opened it for them.

The whiteness of the room was blinding after walking through so many colors. The walls were white and bare of any paintings or pictures except for one wall covered with mirrors. The room had no sculptures or sofas and half of the floor was covered with light grey mats. The room itself was larger than Harry had expected it to be after seeing the plain door; usually the larger rooms had more intricate doors with carvings and inlays. On the back wall there were several doors, all as plain as the first and at the corner there were weight lifting machines and dumbbells.

The second time Harry glanced around the room he noticed a man he had not seen the first time. He was sitting in the opposite corner from the weights and appeared to be meditating. Idris made no move to go over to the man so Harry stood at his side, trying to stay as still as possible.

After what felt like an age to Harry, but was really probably no more than five minutes, the man abruptly stood up and made his way over to them. He walked like a predator, smooth and soundless. Harry froze when they made eye contact, feeling like his prey.

The man stopped roughly five feet from them and bowed to his father who nodded his head in kind. He was a tall man with lean muscles that made his body seem even larger. He had brown skin, lighter than most people at the manor, and thin eyes and nose. The sides of his head were shaved but he had a stripe of hair across the top pulled back into a low queue. The most notable feature, though, had to be his scars. He had burns up the entirety of his left arm that disappeared under his shirt only to climb up part of his neck. Harry wondered how far those burns spread along his back. The pinky and half the ring finger of his left hand looked as if they had been burned away.

**"****Good morning, Mujahid. I want to introduce you to my son, Harry,"** Idris began, slipping into the smooth cadence of Arabic.

**"****Good morning to you too, Warlord. I am honored to teach your heir,"** Mujahid bowed again before turning to Harry, a hard glint making its way into his eyes.

Harry quickly bowed and intoned, **"It is an honor to meet you, Mujahid."** He kept his head bowed and didn't see the anger that spread along Mujahid's face.

**"****Insolent child!"** a booming voice barked. Harry recoiled as his feet were swept out from underneath him. **"Insolent _and _unprepared! This is what I have to work with?!"**

Harry looked up at Mujahid from the floor and saw nothing but cold anger.

**"****You will never address me by my given name. To you I am Sir, both in and out of this room. Understood?"**

Harry looked up at his aabbe, hoping he would rescue him from this crazy man, but he was met with nothing. His aabbe's face was completely blank and Harry couldn't help but feel betrayed.

**"****Do not look at your father, boy. In this room you are mine."**

Idris pulled his eyes away from Harry, his face betraying nothing, nodded once more to Mujahid and turned, leaving the room. Harry fought back the tears that welled up at being abandoned with this man. He didn't understand what he had done wrong.

**"****Are you about to cry, boy? There will be no crying in here. There will be no whining. You will get no quarter in this room, understood?" **Mujahid barked.

**"****Yes, Sir,"** Harry quickly replied and pulled himself to his feet. He stared at the floor as Mujahid circled him, and thought furiously about his aabbe's betrayal.

'Why would he do this to me?' Harry thought piteously. He couldn't figure it out. His aabbe had been nice to him; well, nicer than anyone had been before. He was stern and did not put up with mistakes and childishness but had never shouted nor laid a hand on him.

Mujahid finally finished circling and stopped in front of Harry who looked up hesitantly.

**"****Why the Warlord would want a pipsqueak like you I'll never know but it is not my place to question him. It is my place to mold you. I will make you the best damn warrior that I can. Then, maybe you'll be of some use to the Warlord,"** Mujahid sneered.

Harry found himself nodding as his brain kept running, 'I'll make it up to Father. I'll train hard and fix what made him mad. He won't send me back to the Dursleys.'

**"****You will not nod at me like a chicken. You will answer either 'Yes, Sir' or 'No, Sir'. Understood?"** he growled.

Harry jumped, **"Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir."**

Mujahid sneered again, **"Better. Now take off your shoes and run the perimeter of the room. You are never to wear shoes in this room."**

Harry hastened to take his shoes off but it obviously wasn't fast enough for his trainer who stared kicking him until he started running.

**"****When I say move that means you move pipsqueak. It does not mean that you get to take your sweet time. It does not mean that I'll wait on your pleasure. You may be the heir to a kingdom out there, but in here you are nothing. Nothing. What are you pipsqueak?"** Mujahid shouted at him from the center of the room.

**"****Nothing,"** Harry panted out, already winded from the two laps he had completed.

**"****That was pathetic. I could barely hear you. Try again. What are you?"**

**"****Nothing, Sir!"**

**"****That's a bit better. In here, my word is law. If I tell you to do something, you are to do it immediately and unquestioningly, understood?"**

**"****Understood, Sir!"** Harry gasped.

**"****I am not your nursemaid. I will not coddle you. You are nothing until I say so. You are putty that I must somehow pound into stone. I will shape you. I will tear you down and rebuild you over and over until I think you are the best warrior there is. You will sweat, you will hurt, you will leave this room crawling if I see fit.**

**"****You will not like me. I am not here to make friends with you. I am not here to hold hand and tell you fairy tales. You will hate me. You will hate me and you will be better for it."**

Harry felt like he was going to pass out. He had been running the room for what felt like hours as his trainer continued to bark at him. Finally Mujahid told him to stop and to come over to him. Harry was so weary at this point that he didn't even see the fist coming and before he knew what had happened he was laid out flat on the ground with a splitting pain in the side of his head.

Mujahid stood over him and sneered, **"What the hell was that? You need to pay attention, pipsqueak. Get up and defend yourself!"**

Harry dragged himself to his feet and his legs were swiftly swept out from beneath him.

**"****I said defend yourself, runt!"**

**"****How?"** Harry yelled, angry and exhausted, **"You're so much bigger than me!"**

Mujahid growled, lifted him by his arm and threw him across the room. **"Never speak unless spoken to! Start running!"**

Harry jumped up as quickly as he could and started sprinting around the room. He tried to keep his arm as immobile as possible since it had been severely twisted when he was thrown.

After a couple laps Mujahid rounded on him, lashing out with his leg. Harry had been watching and fell to the floor, the foot barely missing his head. While he had avoided being kicked the first time, Harry realised his mistake as another kick landed on his side. He was completely prone and open to attack splayed out on the floor. Another kick was aimed at his side but Harry rolled out of the way, scrambling to his feet.

**"****Better,"** Mujahid smirked.** "Maybe I can do something with you after all."**

* * *

Harry left that practice with several nasty bruises, a splitting headache and a twisted arm. Muscles he didn't even know he had ached and his ankle was complaining at every step he took. He wanted to go back to his room and take a warm bath, but Mujahid had forced him through one of the doors at the back room and into a cold shower. He was thrown into another set of clothes, matching the first but instead of white they were a rich maroon color and was shivering from the shower. He looked at Asad and Roble but was met with blank faces. The two men had been fairly warm to him, not friendly per say but amicable. but now they were stone cold.

He felt so alone as he was led out of the maze of coloured corridors and didn't even notice when he reached the dining room for lunch. He hesitated at the door. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see his aabbe after what he had been put through but the choice was taken out of his hands when one of the guards shoved him into the room.

Idris was already there, waiting at the table drinking his tea while scanning some papers. The food was already set out. Harry had been held by Mujahid until he completed all of his exercises. He walked up to the table cautiously, not knowing how the man he had come to adore would react.

After a few minutes standing by the chair Idris finally looked up at him.

_"__You're late,"_ he said, his tone void of any emotion.

Harry took a deep breath before replying, _"Sir kept me behind. I hadn't finished my exercises."_

Idris' eyes narrowed, _"That is no excuse. You will not be late to meals."_

Harry took another deep breath, willing the tears to stay behind his eyelids. _"Yes, sir."_

Idris' face softened at the formal way that Harry addressed him. Harry hadn't called him sir since the first day he had been there. He set down his tea before opening his arms.

_"__Oh my child, I am not angry with you."_

Harry's emotions burst and he ran over to his aabbe, throwing himself into his arms. Idris pulled him up into his lap, wrapped his arms around him and rocked, cooing nonsense into his ear.

Once the tears had stopped flowing Harry sniffed, "Why did you leave me with Mujahid, Aabbe?" slipping into English as a few more tears made their way down his wet cheeks. He was too upset to try to use anything but his native tongue.

"It's 'Sir' Harry, you are to call him nothing but 'Sir' as he demands," Idris rebuked softly.

Harry sobbed, "Why, Aabbe? What I do?"

Idris wiped away the tears flowing down his son's cheeks, "You didn't do anything wrong, Harry."

"Then why! Why you do this to me?"

Idris rocked Harry for a few more minutes, gathering his thoughts before answering, "I told you that I grew up poor but I never explained to you what that entailed. The streets here weren't quite as dangerous when I was a child as they are today, but they were far from safe.

"When I was your age I was already running from guns and gangs, being attacked whenever they could catch me. I was never taught to defend myself, I had to learn. I learned through blood and broken bones and strove to become better. It took years but eventually I formed my own gang and worked to make it bigger and better and eventually I got to where I am today. I clawed my way up, going from a weak child to one of the most powerful Warlords in Mogadishu.

"I swore to myself that no son of mine would have to go through the pain and torment that I did. You have to be strong or else you will be killed. Mujahid will help you become strong. He will never seriously injure you the way I was. You will never have it as bad as I did, but I will not let you be coddled. You would grow weak and dependent on others. Nobody will be able to hurt you when Mujahid is done with you."

Harry listened to his aabbe intently, soaking up every word. His tears dried as he realised why his aabbe was doing this; he was trying to protect him. His aabbe didn't hate him, and that was all that mattered.

_"__I understand, Father,"_ he said, slipping back into Somali. _"I will do good. I will make you proud."_

Idris nodded and lifted up Harry's chin. _"'__I will do __**well**'__Harry, and I'm sure you will. Now, eat your lunch before it gets cold."_

Harry scrubbed at his face as he slipped off his father's lap and into his chair.

'I will make aabbe proud,' he thought. 'I will not let him down.'

* * *

**January 1987**

After several more months studying Somali culture and politics Idris decided it was time to take Harry to one of his business dinners. Harry was really excited since he hadn't been allowed to leave the manor since he arrived. Ayann had to keep scolding him to sit still as she fought with Harry's hair. She had given up trying to tame it on most days, but it was important for him to look the part of the heir that night. Idris had decreed that he grow it out so that it was more manageable, but unfortunately it had not gotten long enough yet to become tamer.

_"__Why must you have such difficult hair, Little Master! I swear, birds must roost in it every night to create such a mess!"_ She yanked on his hair particularly hard, working on a stubborn knot.

Harry winced. His scalp had gotten more used to the violent treatment, but occasionally Ayann got really frustrated, _"I don't know, Ayann. I'm sorry."_

She sighed, throwing the brush down on the dresser before running her fingers through his thick locks, _"It's not your fault, Little Master. Some of us are just doomed to awful hair!"_ She smiled mischievously and ruffled his hair.

_"__Hey!"_ Harry cried, trying to get away from her hands. _"That won't fix it!"_

Ayann smiled and pulled out some hair butter, grabbing chunks of his locks and rubbing them into faux dreadlocks. _"Well maybe this will control your hair tonight. It might not be a conventional style, but you do not have conventional hair."_

Harry sighed and let her work, moving obediently as she dressed him. In the eight months he had been there he had gotten used to being waited on by Ayann.

She dressed him in heavy, black wool trousers and a silk collared shirt that matched his eyes. Over it he wore a black wool jacket that matched his pants.

_"_Oy!" he exclaimed. _"It's hot!"_

_"__Deal with it."_

While Ayann acted like the perfect maid outside of the room, whenever she and Harry were alone she acted like a mother hen. He adored her and made sure never to say anything about it to Idris who might react badly.

_"__Now, let me have a look at you."_

Harry stood up and stayed stock still. He knew that he would not be able to leave the room until she was completely satisfied. She fretted around him for several minutes, pulling and tucking things Harry couldn't even see before declaring him handsome and pushing him out the door.

He made his way to the entrance hall with Asad next to him and Roble following behind. They didn't have to lead him to most places in the manor anymore; he had become familiar with the winding hallways. He could probably find his way around alone as well but he knew it was not allowed. It had taken a while to get used to always having guards with him but he had become comfortable with his shadows. They had warmed up to him a little, Roble more so than Asad, but they were still stone cold when anyone else was with them.

Harry found his aabbe waiting in the entrance hall with his guards. He looked immaculate in his three piece suit and Harry no longer felt overdressed.

Idris ushered Harry into one of the armored cars in the middle of a long line of cars. Just like the day he arrived in Mogadishu, trucks with high powered ammunition led and tailed the entourage and there were several identical armored cars in the middle. Idris had once explained that the other armored cars were used as decoys so that nobody would know for sure which car to attack.

They settled themselves into the car, Idris sitting across from Harry and a guard sitting next to each of them. After a few minutes of travel Idris started speaking.

"I know I explained a bit about this dinner to you before, but I figured I would make sure you understood completely. This is going to be a dinner with several business men and their families. There will be other children there but you will be the youngest.

"You will get a bit of time to socialize with the other sons beforehand, but do not speak to any of the women or their daughters. They will not be around before or after the meal, but do not say anything to them at any point. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Aabbe."

"Do not be surprised if the other sons treat you badly. All of them have been spoilt since birth. Neither they nor their fathers understand life the way we do. They were brought up the way their children were, rich and spoilt. They are set in their ways and see themselves as better than anyone else. They will look down on you for the fact that you have been adopted. With all of this said, try your best to get along with them. Allies are far better than enemies."

Harry nodded, "Yes, Aabbe."

"That is another thing. You can address me as Aabbe at home, but around anybody else I am 'sir' to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Other than with the children, do not speak unless you are spoken to. Do not look the other men in the eyes and follow my lead in everything, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded emphatically. He wanted to make his aabbe proud and would make sure to follow his instructions to the letter.

They passed the rest of the ride in silence, Harry staring out the tinted window at the city. There weren't as many buildings destroyed in this part of town and there were no dead people on the streets. While Harry could hear the sounds of shelling, it was far off.

Most of the buildings looked like they had been shops at one time, but they had all been closed for quite a while. The windows had thick layers of grime covering them and there was slanderous graffiti everywhere.

The further they drove, the nicer and cleaner the buildings. Fewer were reduced to rubble and the graffiti didn't cover every building. Soon they reached a wall and gate similar to the one at their manor but the concrete wall had the occasional graffiti slogan, some half finished with a brown stain on the wall. One of these stains was more red than brown and had a rather fresh body splayed beneath it. Harry thought it almost looked like a doll or a picture. It didn't connect that it was an actual person in his mind.

Soon they passed through the gates leaving the doll behind them and drove up to a manor that was more lavish than their own. This manor was built in a more colonial style and was very long. The building itself was a mottled blue color and there were statues made out of bushes. Harry pressed his nose against the window when they passed by a dragon-shaped bush. It was huge!

They were escorted out by a couple butlers flanked by more guards. Harry hadn't seen that many guns before. Some of the men were covered with them, others with lines of bullets wrapped around their bodies.

His aabbe touched his arm and shook his head; he shouldn't be staring. Harry nodded and looked ahead, straightening his back and walking like his aabbe had shown them. They were escorted through a series of fairly plain hallways and into a large room. The room had to be two stories high and the walls were lined with books. Harry was itching to go look at them but stayed still and directed his attention to the man standing in front of his aabbe.

**"****Good evening, Idris. I'm glad you were able to come. Is this the boy you adopted?"**

**"****I am glad to be here Osei, thank you for inviting us into your home. Yes, this is Harry."**

**"****Where did you find him? He's so white!"** Osei exclaimed.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at this comment but then quickly blanked his face out. He knew he was different from anyone else around here. His skin was lighter than anybody he had met since he came here.

**"****He comes from Europe. His family was horrible to him so I brought him here,"** Idris said, his voice emotionless.

Osei nodded and turned to the boy, "It is nice to meet you, Harry." His accent was much more pronounced than Idris', the R's rolling off of his tongue. It was similar to Ayann's, but he was obviously fluent in English while she definitely was not.

Harry hesitated before responding. His aabbe told him to speak in Arabic to the adults tonight; that was the language they were going to do business in. With the children might have to speak Somali but other than that he was only to speak in Arabic.

Harry nodded after making up his mind, **"It is good to meet you as well, sir."** He was frustrated with how flat his voice sounded in comparison to Osei's rich tones and swore to work on it.

The man's shock was obvious as he turned to Idris. **"He's already fluent in Arabic? I thought you took him in last summer?"**

Idris smirked, **"Indeed I did. He has been working hard to learn both Arabic and Somali."**

**"****Somali as well? And he's just as proficient in that language?"**

Idris' smirk turned into a smile as he nodded. Harry couldn't help a grin spread along his face; he had made his aabbe proud!

**"****Quite the intelligent child you have here,"** Osei said as he schooled his face and turned to Harry. **"Would you like to meet the other children, Harry?"**

Harry nodded, **"I would like that very much, sir."** He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to Idris and saw his displeasure. Harry thought quickly and realised his mistake. **"I am sorry, sir. Is it all right that I go with Osei to meet the other children?"**

Idris' face relaxed as he nodded. Harry smiled at him and restrained the impulse to hug him. He turned and followed Osei to the other side of the room where there were several boys standing around and talking to one another.

The conversation grew quiet as he and Osei approached the group. Each of the children bowed to Osei as they greeted him. Harry was introduced to them in Somali and then left with the other boys as Osei went back to speak with the other men.

While pleasant when Osei was with him, the boys' faces turned scathing once he was out of sight.

_"__So this is the little orphan. Do you think he understands us?" _a tall lanky boy with charcoal skin asked.

_"__No way. A boy that white is too good to learn our language,"_ another boy answered.

Harry looked back and forth between them, confused as to why the other boys were acting like this.

_"__Look at how small he is, the runt. He can't be more than five years old! What is he doing here? He's too young and too white to be here."_

Harry's eyes widened at their vitriol. _"Father brought me here for dinner. He told me to come over to play with you."_

The boys looked at each other before the first one spoke up, _"Well it looks like the runt can talk after all. He sounds really weird though. Where are you from, runt?"_

_"__Umm… Britain."_

That comment drew a snarl out of a couple of the boys as the first one glared at him.

_"__We don't want your kind, runt. Get the hell away from us."_

Harry's eyes looked around at the sneering boys in shock; he couldn't figure out why they were being so mean to him. He backed away and turned around, looking for his aabbe and making a beeline across the room when he found him. He tried to remain calm and willed his tears back as he sidled up next to his aabbe.

Idris broke off from the conversation he had been having from one of the men and looked down at his son. Harry's distress was written all over his face despite the obvious attempt he had made to control it.

He knelt down and spoke gently, **"Harry, what is wrong?"**

At his father's soft words Harry had to work harder at keeping back his tears. Before training with Mujahid he probably wouldn't have been able to do it, but he had learned to keep from crying at all costs.

Harry took a couple deep breaths before replying, **"The other boys don't like me. They were mean to me and called me bad names."**

**"****Well,"** Idris said, **"you'll have to stay with me then. Come on, they're about to serve dinner."** Idris stood up and led his son into the dining room across the hall.

* * *

Dinner passed with no incidents. Harry had been drilled in etiquette for months before hand so he made no gauche mistakes. After the meal was through, Idris signaled for Harry to follow him as the men made their way out of the room. Harry followed them down several hallways until they reached what looked like a library. Like the first room, the walls were lined with books and it had several chairs and couches arranged in a rough circle in the middle.

**"****What is that child doing here, Idris?"** a large man with an expansive waistline sneered as Harry moved to sit next to his father on a couch.

**"****He is here on my invitation, Zuberi. This is my son and heir, Harry,"** Idris answered coldly.

**"****He is too young, Idris. Besides, can he even understand us? He looks like he's from Europe!"** a balding man exclaimed.

**"****He can understand you perfectly well, Ameer. He is well versed in English, Somali and Arabic. He can understand far more than you think he is capable of. He is here by my permission. It is not my problem that you isolate your children from politics,"** Idris said, his face a blank mask.

**"****Gentlemen,"** Osei interrupted. **"I have allowed young Harry to come tonight to learn more about our culture and politics. No more quarrels will be permitted. We have far more important things to address."**

The men around the room nodded, some looking deeply disgruntled. Harry resisted the urge to shift in his seat and sat attentively. He didn't want to let his aabbe down.

Osei passed out several tumblers filled with a deep amber liquid before settling down. **"Now then, down to business. I've been rather concerned with what Siad Barre has been doing lately. Ever since he got into that car accident eight months ago there has been upheaval."**

**"****We knew that was going to happen,"** Zuberi said. **"He was so weak after the accident that any of his opposition would want to attempt a coup."**

Osei nodded and sipped at his liquor before continuing, **"Yes, I know, but things have only been getting worse. The different regimes have been stirring up problems all over the country which has drawn the global eye onto us. Amnesty International charged us with 'blatant violations of human rights' and the United States Congress has been deliberating about cutting off some of the aid they give us."**

This announcement caused an outcry amongst most of the men who obviously had not heard of such a thing.

**"****How could they accuse us of that? How have we violated human rights?"** a burly man in a tan suit asked.

**"****Attacking non-hostiles, taking hostages, suppressing freedom of speech, homicide, executions…" **Osei answered.

Idris interrupted the other men's outrage with a smooth voice, **"What does this mean for us?"**

Osei drained the rest of his glass before answering, **"Unfortunately, if the US goes through with this Barre is likely going to try to make up the difference in money. I have a feeling he's going to up our 'taxes', as he likes to call them."**

The conversation broke down for several minutes into arguments and slurs on the president before Osei broke back in, **"Amnesty International's accusations aren't just against Barre and his regime; they incorporate all of the separate factions. We might need Barre to protect us."**

The men bickered back and forth for several minutes while Idris scratched his chin, deep in thought. When the men quieted down he slipped into the conversation, **"I think the most basic question is whether or not we're going to keep supporting Barre. His regime has been strong since he became president but there are a lot of problems brewing. How long is he going to be secure in that office?"**

Silence hit the room as all of the men pondered his words. Ameer, the balding man that originally protested Harry's presence, was the first to break the quiet, **"I think we should continue to support Barre. His regime has been strong up until now and he will likely regain the ground he has lost."** Many murmurs of approval spread through the room. Osei just watched Idris, waiting for his opinion.

Idris spent a few more minutes in thought before responding to his own question, **"I am not sure that Barre is going to keep a hold on this country. Too many clans want him out of office and with the attention being drawn to us, I have a feeling that there may soon be international pressure to remove Barre. **

**"****With that said, I am going to continue to support Barre for now. I don't want to encourage another regime to take office only to have to make deals with them. We already have set arrangements with Barre and I worry that another regime might not be so profitable for us."**

Osei nodded to Idris as the rest of the room continued to bicker. Harry didn't understand everything that was being said, but he focused as hard as he could on the words. The men continued to talk about politics and economics far into the night and eventually Harry lost his fight with sleep and slumped against the couch. Idris prodded him awake when it was time to leave and he sleepily made his way out to the car. He fell back asleep in the car and never felt his aabbe pick him up and put him to bed.

* * *

**Mujahid:** Arabic name; fighter; warrior.  
**Osei:** African name; noble.  
**Ameer:** Arabic name; prince, ruler; prosperous.  
**Zuberi:** African name; strong.

**A/N:** Nothing like a heavy dose of hurt/comfort to gain complete loyalty.

I know it seems like Harry learned the languages fast, but it is possible. Young children pick up on languages rather quickly, not to mention he is intelligent and he wants to please his aabbe. The last one can be quite the motivator.

Again, nearly all of the events discussed are real. I definitely created some associations between the events that might not have existed, but all of the events themselves occurred.

Your reviews really do inspire me to write more. **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**February 1987**

Harry was surprised when his aabbe was not there for breakfast. In the ten months that he had been there Idris had never missed breakfast or dinner with Harry. He asked one of the guards about his aabbe's absence and was informed that he had eaten breakfast early that morning and was waiting for him in his library.

Harry scarfed down his food before walking to the library as quickly as he could. Running was not allowed so he just walked very fast. He found Idris at his desk, flipping through a bunch of papers.

_"__Father?"_

Idris looked up to see Harry standing in front of the large desk, _"Good morning, Harry. Come, sit with me."_ He stood and led Harry to a couple chairs that had been arranged in front of the fireplace.

_"__Why didn't you eat breakfast with me, Father?"_ Harry was only barely able to keep the hurt from his face.

_"__I had some paperwork I had to do little one. I had to finish it early in order to spend some time with you this morning."_

Harry's face lit up, _"You are spending time with me today?"_

Idris smiled at Harry's exuberance, _"Yes, son. I'm giving you today off of your lessons. I wanted to talk to you about the dinner last night and then we are flying to London. Mujahid recommended fixing your eyes since your glasses have been knocked off at least a dozen times a lesson, something you can't afford to have happen during combat. The doctors suggested laser surgery to fix your corneas so we are going to London to get that done."_

Harry nodded eagerly; he was going back to London!

_"__Before we leave, I wanted to know if you had any questions about last night. I know that despite your lessons in politics you probably found the conversations confusing."_

Harry furrowed his brows, trying to remember the conversations before he fell asleep. _"Barre is our president, right?"_ Idris nodded which bolstered Harry's confidence. _"Why would someone want to get rid of him?"_

Idris nodded and took a few seconds to word his answer, _"It's complicated, as all politics are. There are the usual people who want power for their own gains, but there are also many people unhappy with the state of affairs. Barre has created a regime drenched in blood. He keeps sending out his Red Berets, sort of a special army force, to terrorize citizens and carry out his genocidal policies."_

_"__What is genocidal?"_ Harry interrupted.

_"__Genocide is when someone tries to kill off a whole group of people. Barre attempts to control the other clans who want to gain power by killing them off."_

Harry looked at his aabbe in confusion, _"Isn't that bad?"_

_"__Yes, I suppose it is."_

_"__If he kills people, why do you want him to stay president?"_ Harry asked.

Idris sighed, trying to figure out how to explain something like this to a six year old. _"Barre may do things that are considered bad, but he does a lot of things that are good for us. He gives us exclusive rights to certain imports, exports and areas of the city and in turn we give him our support. He turns a blind eye to what could be deemed illegal activities and leaves us alone. It's all for a price, but he gives us a lot."_

Harry looked at him in confusion, _"But, he does bad things."_

Idris nodded, _"I know Harry, but they are not bad to us. For now he has enough control to give us what we want so we support him in turn."_

Harry sat, looking at the floor and trying to piece together what his aabbe was saying.

_"__I know it's hard to understand Harry; you see things in black and white. Some day you'll understand, but what is important is that we do well. You have to worry about family first, don't you?"_

Harry nodded vigorously, after the Dursleys Harry learned to place family above all else.

_"__Well, then you should understand that we come before everyone else. We have to worry about our well being, not other people."_

Harry sat for another few minutes, absorbing what his aabbe was saying. _"I think I understand father. We come first. Nobody else matters but family. We have to do whatever we must to take care of ourselves."_

_"__Exactly right, Harry."_ Harry beamed at this praise before Idris continued, _"Now, did you have any other questions?"_

_"__The other kids,"_ Harry began slowly. _"They treated me bad when I said I came from Britain."_

Idris sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment before answering,_ "It's 'treated me __**badly**__'. You can't say you're from Britain Harry. If anyone asks, you're from Europe, do you understand?"_

_"__Yes, Father. But why?"_

Idris sighed, _"About four months ago, Abdirahmaan Barre, that's President Barre's brother, accused the Somali Service of the BBC, __the British Broadcasting Corporation,__ of airing anti-Somali propaganda_

_"__The Somalis were outraged at the idea that they were being slandered while the British were angered by the accusation against them. This has caused a lot of problems between Britain and us and has caused a rift between the two countries."_

_"__What is a rift, Father?"_ Harry asked.

_"__Rift means a break in friendly association. Because of all this, a lot of anti-British sentiment has trickled down through our populace and now anyone of British decent is vilified. You need to make sure you tell no one that you are from Britain. Tell them you are from Europe and if they press you for information you can say you are from Ireland. Do you understand?"_

_"__Yes, Father."_

_"__Good, do you have any other questions?"_

Harry shook his head, _"No, Father."_

_"__Alright,"_ Idris responded. _"If you remember any questions later let me know and I'll gladly answer them. For now, we have a plane waiting for us."_

Harry jumped up and followed his aabbe out of the room, excited to be spending the day with his aabbe and going to London.

* * *

It had been a long and eventful trip and Idris was exhausted by the effort it took to keep up with a six year old child. They had gotten Harry's eyes fixed and then Harry insisted on going to the zoo where there were problems in the reptilian exhibit. Somehow a boa constrictor got loose and terrorized the patrons. Harry wasn't scared, but that was beside the point. Before they left Idris had some words with the management of the zoo for putting his son in danger.

They spent the night in London and came back to Mogadishu the next morning. Idris was planning on having a relaxing day, catching up on a book he had been attempting to read for several months. It wasn't even two steps in the manor before he was waylaid by one of his guards.

_"__Sir? Some men showed up early this morning wanting to meet with you. They say that they have a business proposition involving exclusive exportation rights of oil."_

Idris rubbed his face; was he ever going to get back to his book? He sighed, _"Why didn't they go through the usual channels?"_

_"__They said that they did not have time to. They happened to be in the country for the last couple of days and wanted to take the opportunity to meet with you."_

Idris stared up at the ceiling trying to think of what to do._ "This is against my better judgment but I'll see them. Make sure that they go through the standard security checks and allow a minimum number of people in. I do not want any of their guards in my presence."_

The guard nodded before he left through one of the side doors.

Idris turned to Harry, _"Go find Ayann and have her dress you appropriately for a business meeting. You might as well gain something out of this inconvenience."_

He turned and left to get ready for the meeting without waiting to see if Harry was going to follow his orders.

* * *

It wasn't often that other people were allowed into the manor. They kept the place under tight security, best achieved via isolation, so they weren't used to having strangers about. Thus why the manor was practically thrumming with anxiety.

Harry was waiting patiently in the meeting room, a fairly large and sparse room near the entrance of the manor. He sat in a chair next to his father's, flanked by Asad and Roble with various guards scattered around the room. He wore black slacks and a black collared shirt and was having a hard time not playing with the buttons while he waited. He could hear Mujahid's voice in his head barking at him to sit still so he relaxed and cleared out his mind.

After an uncountable number of minutes the doors opened and his aabbe escorted a group of white men in dark suits into the room. Harry quickly stood up and nodded at the men when they saw him. One of the men turned to the other and rapidly said something in a language Harry guessed was Russian while gesturing at Harry. The man nodded his head and turned to Idris.

"What is a child doing here?" he asked with contempt while gesturing towards Harry.

Idris walked around the desk and stood in front of his chair with his hands on the surface, "This is my son and he is learning to be my heir. Are there going to be any problems? If there are, my men will gladly escort you out."

The man shook his head and bit out several sharp words in Russian to the other men who nodded and stepped back. Idris gestured to the chairs sitting in front of his desk and the men took a seat. Harry waited to sit until after his aabbe and folded his hands in his lap, listening intently.

"Let's get down to business," Idris started in his normal concise manner. "You came here to negotiate a deal regarding oil. From what I understand, you want to give me exclusive rights for my companies to export oil to where you reside, am I correct Vikenti?"

The man who originally spoke up nodded, wisely waiting until Idris finished speaking.

"You know that my companies have exclusive rights to supply oil to many areas and thus do not necessarily need yet another oil export. Why should I agree to this?"

Vikenti's voice carried none of the obvious irritation written across his face. "There is a large market for oil in Chukotka. A lot of our oil import comes from the Middle East and thus costs a lot due to the shipping over land. Since Chukotka is easily accessible by sea, you would be able to sail the oil for cheaper than the land based travel. Due to the lower cost, we would buy the oil from you giving you exclusive rights to sell in our area."

Idris raised an eyebrow at the man and began speaking slowly, "So you are saying that you want to give me exclusive rights to exporting oil to Chukotka. In northern Russia." When the man nodded tersely Idris stood up quickly and signaled to his guards.

Vikenti reacted swiftly, barking out a command. All of his men jumped into action, pulling their guns and aiming them at the guards. The men they thought were business associates were heavily armed.

The guards fought viciously, taking down at least half of the Russians before they were subdued. The white tiles ran red with blood as two Russians stepped around the desk to pull both Idris and Harry out onto the floor, forcing them to kneel. They were held at gun point but it was obvious that several of the men weren't happy about pointing their guns at a child.

Vikenti shook his head, "Children shouldn't be involved in things like this, Warlord. What were you thinking? No matter, he'll end up dead due to your stupidity."

Fire flamed in Idris' eyes, "You would kill a child?"

"He is your heir, is he not? He is not innocent and would likely hunt us down for killing you, so yes. We would kill him."

Idris snarled, "Why the hell are you here?"

Vikenti tutted at him, "You have caused us a lot of problems, Warlord, even if you are unaware of it. We provided arms to Afanasi who in turn sold them in Africa for a good profit. He was one of the top gun runners here, was he not?"

"That man?" Idris spat at him. "He was scum, killing off other gun runners and charging exorbitant amounts…"

"So you put a bounty on his head," Vikenti interrupted.

"Yes, I did. He killed off two of my arms dealers in order to sell to me himself. He sold bad guns at that."

Vikenti backhanded Idris across the face, knocking him to the floor and adding blood to the pools on the tiles. Idris got back up on his knees at spat on Vikenti.

Vikenti growled and wiped his face off, "You shouldn't have done that. I was going to kill you swiftly, but now I'm going to torture you before you die." He signaled to one of the other men who grabbed Idris and held his left arm out in front of him.

"You don't use your fingers often, do you?" Vikenti held his gun up to Idris' hand and shot off his pinky. Idris screamed in pain, blood pouring out of his hand where his finger was once attached.

Harry shrieked and jumped to his feet, running at Vikenti as he aimed his gun at another finger. He grabbed onto his arm, wrenching the gun away from Idris before it went off, the bullet lodging itself into the bloody floor.

Harry's entire vision turned red, flames licking at the edges of his eyes. Heat welled up from his stomach and spread out through his organs until he felt on fire. His whole body ached, the heat blazing through his veins.

He wanted this man to hurt. He was trying to kill his aabbe, the only man who cared for him and the only person he had ever loved. Harry wanted him dead, screaming until he was smoldering in his own ashes.

Harry held onto the man's arm for dear life, ignoring all the people trying to yank him off. Following his instincts, he pulled at the heat blistering his insides and forced it all out through his hands. The flames that licked the edges of his vision burst to life, surrounding the man who had threatened his family.

The pain in his hands shocked him back to reality and he let go of Vikenti's arm. The smell of burnt skin permeated the room, causing more than a couple people to gag. Vikenti flailed his arms, trying to get away from the inferno that fed off of his body. Everyone in the room watched in horror as he finally fell to the floor.

The sound of the body hitting the ground shook the Russians out of their shock and they turned to Idris and Harry. Harry's vision turned red again as six guns were aimed at their heads. He held arms out, his palms facing the men as he forced the heat burning through his body out of his hands again. He was so focused on the flames burning through his blood that he didn't hear the cry behind him. Before the men were even able to pull their triggers they were immolated, lighting up the room in a macabre dance before succumbing to the flames.

Both Harry and Idris stared at the burning bodies, transfixed by the charred and peeling skin. The fire burned through the corpses quickly and did not abate until they were reduced to ash. The flames promptly winked out, leaving no evidence that they had even existed except for the dust that littered the floor.

Several servants burst into the room just after the embers faded to black and started to run around, checking the downed guards. Idris knelt in front of Harry and gently pulled his hands away from where he had been cradling them. The skin across his palms and the underside of his fingers was black and peeling, blisters littering the edges of the burns. Idris signaled to one of the servants and told him to call the doctors in the manor.

Harry tried to blank out his mind the way Mujahid had taught him, pulling himself away from the searing pain that was shooting up his arms. The ability had become a necessity in some of the lessons in which Mujahid was particularly vicious. He deepened his breathing, willing himself not to hyperventilate as they waited for medical care.

After what felt like an age, the doors burst open releasing a veritable flood of people. Several doctors sidled up to Idris trying to aid him but they were waved aside and told to help Harry.

Harry felt himself lifted and carried out of the room, traveling down several corridors before being laid on a bed in a room he recognized as his own. He barely felt a prick in his arm before the world went black.

* * *

Idris was overseeing the care for his guards when one of the doctors that he had entrusted Harry to entered the room. He turned and hurried over to the man who appeared to be looking around the room for him.

_"__How is Harry, is he all right?"_ he asked, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

The doctor nodded slowly before answering, _"He's sleeping right now. I will not lie to you, his hands were burnt badly. The majority of his palms were covered with third-degree burns while the outside of his palms and fingers were covered in second-degree burns."_

Idris looked at the doctor, confusion written all over his face, _"What do you mean 'were'?"_

The doctor shook his head, obviously disturbed by whatever had happened_. "That's the thing. When we first evaluated his hands that was what we found. We were originally worried that once healed, the extent of the scarring would extremely limit the use of his hands. We allowed the nurse to clean the burns with antiseptic as we conferred with each other. It couldn't have been fifteen minutes before the nurse cried out. When we looked at his hands again, they were healing. Half of the burns had reduced by a full degree. After an hour, they were gone."_

Idris' eyes widened and he reflexively looked down at his hand. When the other six men were immolated his finger hand briefly caught fire. He terrified that it was going to spread as it had for the other men but it only burnt for a few seconds before winking out on its own accord. The flame had effectively cauterized the wound inflicted by Vikenti's gun. He wouldn't be able to have his finger reattached but at least he hadn't bled to death.

The burns that had been left by the cauterization were gone, leaving nothing but smooth skin in its place. It didn't even scar. He gestured to his hand, explaining what happened to the doctor. The doctor was obviously greatly disturbed and promptly asked to be dismissed. Idris waved him off and left the room to see his son with his own eyes.

There was no one in the room save a single nurse who was sitting as far away from the bed as possible. Idris glared at her and she squeaked before running from the room. He was going to have to speak to his staff about their behavior. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing the hair off of Harry's forehead, running a finger down the lightning bolt scar. He picked up Harry's hands and looked them over, flipping them back and forth looking for the slightest burn or scar. There was nothing but smooth skin left, perhaps a little lighter than the rest of his flesh but unscarred all the same.

A guard knocked on the door before entering the room.

_"__Report,"_ Idris said wearily without looking up from his son.

Roble's deep voice echoed through the room, _"All of the guards are accounted for save two, the two that were in charge of ensuring that the Russians were unarmed."_

Idris growled, _"So that is how they smuggled guns into my house. We had traitors in our midst. Send Ihsan to begin questioning the rest of the staff using whatever methods necessary to ensure loyalty. After that, come back and guard Harry's door. Nobody but me should be allowed through." _Several seconds passed before Idris realised that the guard hadn't moved. He turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

_"__Sir?"_ Roble hesitantly asked. _"May I ask you a question?"_

Idris turned fully to the guard before gesturing for him to continue.

_"__How did you know?"_ Roble asked, obviously uncomfortable with questioning his boss.

_"__How did I know what?"_ Idris asked wearily.

Roble shifted uncomfortably, _"How did you know something was wrong?"_

Idris sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face before answering, _"Chukotka is an independent territory in the north eastern part of Russia. It has many available natural resources including natural gas, coal, and, most importantly, oil. Needless to say, they would not need to import oil when they have their own supplies. Apparently Vikenti was too stupid to check and see if they produced oil in the first place."_

Roble nodded and began to leave the room before Idris stopped him, _"Where is Asad?"_

Roble hesitated before answering, _"He was killed, Sir."_

Idris looked up, _"I am sorry. I know you were close to him."_

Roble nodded, _"Thank you Sir, but he died protecting the Little Master. It is how he would have wanted to go."_

Idris nodded and Roble left the room to fulfill his tasks. He looked down at Harry, spending several minutes carding his fingers through Harry's hair before lying down beside him.

_"__What did you do child?" _he whispered to the sleeping boy. He pulled Harry into his arms, resting his son's head on his chest before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

**Vikenti:** Russian name; conqueror.  
**Afanasi:** Russian name; immortal.  
**Ihsan:** Arabic name; benevolence.

**A/N:** Barre's brother really did pick a fight with the BBC for anti-Somali propaganda in September 1986 which caused a huge political and economic rift between the two countries. I don't know if it actually caused the populace to become anti-British, but for this story it did.


	5. Sefu

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

**A/N:** I'm going to be pulling many of the events in the child soldier training from real life interviews and stories. Many of the things you're going to read are adaptations of real events. Maybe this is 'unoriginal', maybe I should be more creative, but nothing is quite as horrific as the truth. I will tell you at the end of the chapter which events did and did not occur.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**March 1987**

After the attack Idris decided to step up Harry's combat training. Mujahid was more than happy to comply and Harry found himself in the training room for both morning and afternoon lessons.

**"****The Warlord has decided to send you to me more often, pipsqueak. Apparently despite all the training I have given you, you did nothing when you were attacked other than get yourself burnt!"**

Harry listened to Mujahid bark from his usual place in the center of the room as Harry ran laps. He had long since learned not to rise to the bait Mujahid laid out for him lest he end up with more bruises. He knew he had done something, he just didn't know what.

**"****I've decided to put off your weapons training. You won't be allowed to use a gun until you can protect yourself without one. I won't let you use a gun as a crutch!"**

Mujahid signaled for him to stop running and left the middle of the room to go to a door at the back. He opened it and a boy entered.

He was small, only slightly bigger than Harry. His skin was coal, even including the ashen after effects of burning it. His head was shaved and he had a thin, gaunt face with a thick nose. He wore a loose shorts and an oversized Mickey Mouse shirt with holes in it. The blood shot red eyes standing out from a cold face were the most shocking to Harry.

**"****This is Sefu. The cretin only speaks Somali so you will occasionally have to translate some of what I say. Understood?"**

Harry nodded quickly, **"Understood, Sir."**

**"****Good. He's one of the few soldiers that went through the elite training so he has hand-to-hand combat experience. You will be fighting him most days to get experience with someone closer to your size. He will be here most afternoons and you are to begin fighting him immediately."**

**"****Yes, Sir."** Harry hesitated, **"Do you need me to translate that, Sir?"**

Mujahid grabbed him by his arm and threw him over to where Sefu was standing. **"If I need translating, I will tell you. Do not speak out of turn!"** Harry started to lift himself off the floor but stopped when Mujahid growled at him. **"Stay there, pipsqueak."**

Mujahid looked up at Sefu and sneered before barking out in a thick accent, _"Fight!" _Apparently he had at least learned at least a couple words.

Before Harry could blink Sefu was all over him. He tried to scramble out from underneath the wiry boy but only succeeded in opening up his limbs to attack. Before he knew what happened he had his arm twisted around his back and his legs locked in place.

**"****What the hell was that?!"** Mujahid yelled. **"I trained you better than that. You shouldn't be flopping around underneath him like a dying chicken and then giving up when he has you pinned. Even if you can't win you should be doing some damage pipsqueak! **_Again!"_

Sefu shoved Harry's head into the floor before getting up and widening his stance. Harry climbed up only to have his feet swept out from underneath him. He growled and spun on his back, lashing out with his feet only to miss as Sefu jumped over his legs. He couldn't stop his spinning and quickly found his arm wrenched as he was dragged across the floor. He was promptly lifted up and slammed into the wall. He was dazed and barely felt his arm grabbed again and twisted behind him until he was pinned.

**"****Pathetic!**_ Again!"_

Harry's arm was nearly yanked out of his socket as he was lifted and pushed towards the center of the room. The world spun momentarily but he ignored it and shifted his stance before Sefu lunged at him. Harry side stepped him and shoved him from behind hoping to knock Sefu off balance. He fell but used his momentum to roll and jump back up on his feet facing Harry. He didn't have time to brace himself before his legs were knocked out from underneath him again.

Instead of attacking immediately Harry waited until Sefu was nearly on him before lashing out with his leg and arm simultaneously. Sefu moved to avoid being grabbed by his arm but was unable to evade the leg as it landed a kick to his stomach momentarily stunning him. Harry took the opportunity to sweep his legs out from underneath him and scrambled to grab his arm.

They tussled on the floor, rolling across the mat as they tried to outmaneuver each other until Harry pinned Sefu's arms to his chest and thrust his forearm into his neck. Harry smiled thinking he had finally beat him before he felt a leg wrap around his middle. He was pulled backwards off Sefu who rolled with him and landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of Harry and pinning him to the mat.

Sefu nodded and promptly got up off Harry before holding his hand out to help him up. Harry took it warily and was shocked by the smile that spread across Sefu's face. He couldn't help but smile in return. Their exchange was cut off by Mujahid barking at them to fight again and they readied themselves for another attack.

* * *

Idris stood up as a stoic man entered the room and walked around his desk to greet him.

**"****It is nice to see you, Osei,"**he said as he held out his hand.

The man nodded and shook his hand, **"It is nice to see you as well, Idris."**

Idris gestured for the man to take a seat in front of the desk before taking his own, **"How have you been? It has been a couple months since I last saw you."**

**"****Indeed,"** Osei responded. **"It has. I have been well."**

**"****And you family?"**

**"****They are doing well. I have just arranged a marriage contract for my first daughter and my wife is pregnant again."**

Idris clapped and smiled, **"Wonderful! Please let her know I wish her the best."**

Osei nodded, **"I shall. And how is little Harry? I was rather impressed with him at the dinner. He is only six, correct?"**

**"****Yes he is and he's doing well. I have stepped up his combat training due to the attack we had in January. He recently began to train with one of my elite soldiers to give him more experience outside of a trainer who far outclasses him in size and weight."**

**"****And how has that been going?"** Osei asked.

Idris paused to collect his thoughts before answering, **"Well, Mujahid tells me his hand-to-hand fighting has improved drastically. He is no longer hesitant to fight someone as he had been before. My concern is how close he seems to be getting with the soldier."**

Confusion was written all over Osei's face. **"I would imagine that is a good thing. He has no one here his age to play with. Little boys need interaction with other children..."** he trailed off at the glare Idris shot him.

**"****He needs no such thing,"** he growled.

**"****Now Idris…"**

Idris cut him off, **"No. I understand that you treat your children differently but he is to be my heir. He will one day have to deal with the things I have and work with the people I do. I will not allow him to be used or bulldozed. You know what my childhood was like. I will not allow him to fall into the same traps I did."**

Osei waited until Idris seemed to calm down before continuing, **"I understand that, but would it be so bad for him to have a friend?"**

**"****He doesn't need friends; he has family. Friends will only hurt him in the end."**

Osei capitulated, unable to mask his sorrow for the child that would never be. He understood Idris' reasoning but disagreed wholeheartedly with his corresponding actions. Osei wished that Idris' wife had never died. She was always able to temper his ire; she never would have put up with treating a child like this.

Idris glared at him again before saying, **"Your opinion on my method of raising Harry is not why I requested to meet you. I wanted to speak you about the assassination attempt that happened here in January."**

Osei pushed asidehis melancholy thoughts and gave Idris his full attention. **"I had heard about that, but the details have been sketchy. I have received several different versions of the story, some more outlandish than others."**

Idris nodded, **"Unfortunately the correct one is probably one of the more outlandish ones."**

Idris gave Osei a full recounting of the events at that night and Osei's face showed nothing but disbelief.

**"****You have got to be kidding me."**

Idris shook his head solemnly, **"No, my friend, I am not. I wish I could say that I had no idea where the flames came from but I have my suspicions. Vikenti didn't immolate until Harry had his hands on him and the rest went up in flames when he gestured to them."**

The men spent a few minutes in silence before Osei spoke up,** "I had heard stories like this as a child, told mainly as fables. Supernatural occurrences triggered by high stress or dangerous situations. I had never actually heard of anything like it otherwise."**

Idris nodded, **"I would think that if such a thing did exist, those involved would do their best to hide it. Anything magical is often met with fear and suspicion. It might result in a death sentence if something like this became public knowledge."**

Osei tapped his finger on his chin before he responded, **"Then if it is magic that occurred, why would you want to pursue this? It could be tantamount to a death sentence for Harry."**

**"****I know,"** Idris replied. **"But you should have seen the inferno Harry created. Whatever caused it, if trained, could be a powerful weapon."**

**"****Is such a weapon really worth the risk?"** Osei asked.

Idris paused, carefully considering his words before continuing, **"I think it is. With my resources I could protect Harry from those who wish to persecute him and if he can be fully trained, then he could protect himself."**

Osei sighed, **"I disagree with your choice but it is not mine to make. What do you wish of me?"**

**"****I want to try to find out for sure what happened. I want to find out if those fables are actually fact. I want to find those who practice magic and see if they will teach Harry to use it,"** Idris said firmly.

Osei nodded, **"I will do my best, Warlord. It's probably going to take some time and likely a good amount of money to bribe those who would not otherwise want to take the risk."**

Idris waved him off, **"I understand that. You have as much money at your disposal as you need, but this needs to be a priority. I will find someone else to run the diamond mine in the interim. I want your full focus to be on this."**

**"****So be it, Warlord."**

* * *

One particularly warm afternoon in March Harry arrived at the training room early. His aabbe had to leave for business the previous day so he had no one to talk to after his meal. When he entered the room he saw Sefu sitting on one side with his back leaning up against the wall. He appeared to be staring off into space and only acknowledged Harry's existence when he sat down next to him.

_"__What were you thinking about?"_ Harry asked.

Sefu looked at him warily before sighing and answering, _"My family. It's been several years since I've seen them."_

Harry looked at him, confused. _"Where are they?"_

Sefu gazed up at the ceiling for several moments before answering, _"They're probably still in Beira."_

Several minutes passed before Harry broke the silence, _"Will you tell me about them?"_

Sefu turned to him, his face blank and searching for something before nodding, _"I am the youngest of three, although there are probably four now since my mother was pregnant when I was taken. My older sisters are probably married by now. The oldest had been engaged to a businessman from Galcaio and was to be married a month after I was taken."_

_"__Taken?"_ Harry asked, confused.

Sefu nodded sadly, _"One day about three years ago a bunch of soldiers came into the village. There were so many of them, some of them younger than I was. They had us all stand in the middle of the village where we would meet for feasts and prayer and separated us into groups. They put me with a bunch of other boys and most of the men. We were to go train and fight with them here in Mogadishu. I didn't want to go but they threatened to rape and kill my sisters if I didn't go with them."_

Harry looked at him sadly, _"That's horrible."_

Sefu looked at him sadly, _"I miss my family. I'm hoping to see them soon. I don't understand why they haven't visited me and I haven't been assigned to duty anywhere near Beira. I guess they're afraid I'll run."_ He hesitated before continuing,_ "Honestly I probably would."_

_"__I miss my parents sometimes too, although it's better since father took me in," _Harry commiserated.

Sefu looked at him, _"I had wondered why you were so white. I didn't understand how Warlord could have a white kid."_

Harry nodded and looked down at the floor, _"Father took me from my aunt and uncle almost a year ago. They were awful to me. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs and only ate if I had completed all my chores."_

Sefu nodded. _"I was lucky to live with my family. We were poor but we always had enough food since we grew it," _Sefu said as he picked at one of the holes in Mickey Mouse's shoes on his shirt.

The boys stiffened as they heard heavy footsteps falling outside the hall and quickly jumped up and away from each other. Very soon after Mujahid burst into the room and looked at them, his eyes narrowing.

**"****Why aren't you fighting?! I told you to start practice everyday as soon as you arrive with or without me!"** Mujahid barked. _"Fight!"_

Harry flinched at the harsh words and quickly threw himself at a scared looking Sefu. He managed to knock the other boy to the floor before the fight started in earnest.

* * *

At least twice a week Sefu and Harry were able to speak for a little bit before lessons when Mujahid was late. Every time they listened carefully for their trainer's heavy footsteps before attacking each other almost immediately.

One such afternoon Harry smuggled some food away from lunch to give to Sefu. He knew that the other boy didn't get such treats that often and was warmed by the bright smile Sefu gave in return.

Harry looked at him, _"Tell me more about your home."_

Sefu leaned back pulling his attention away from the food and stared of in space for a few moments before beginning to speak, _"I lived in Beira, a small village near Galcaio many kilometres from here. My family raised camel for milk and meat. Sometimes I can still smell the sweet milk from the fields and the overpowering smell of the camels themselves. I would go to sleep every night surrounded by the scents. _

_"__When it wasn't harvesting season we would be busy with many projects. There was always something to build or repair, wood to harvest and occasionally game to catch. We would come home everyday to the smells of my mother's cooking. My mother and sisters were always working in the house, preparing food mostly but also cleaning, weaving and all the other things women do._

_"__I liked the hunting trips the most. They were quite the event in our village and mother was always so happy when we would bring back some antelopes or warthogs. There were many small animals but those were some of the best to eat. Whoever killed an animal would get first pick of the meats and organs from it, but better than that was the pride we would have from our success. The whole village would feast on our hunt, singing and dancing through the night to celebrate our success. _

_"__During the evenings we would sit around our porches or a fire and listen to the storytellers. The elders would tell stories while the kids played in the background. Occasionally some of the boys would perform, sometimes performing a play that would have all of us laughing the rest of the night. I remember when I was called up to perform. I ended up singing and my mother and father were so proud with me."_

Harry smiled, lost in the sights and sounds Sefu was weaving with his story. He could almost smell the harvest and the feasts that Sefu would describe. When he finally noticed that Sefu had stopped talking he looked up to see the boy staring off into space. _"It sounds wonderful. I hope you can see your family again soon,"_ he said, smiling as he tried to imagine what having such a family would be like.

Sefu looked at him and smiled, _"You know, you're not so bad. I expected a spoiled brat, but you're nothing like I thought you'd be."_

Harry smiled, _"Thank you. I don't think father would spoil me. He can be rather mean sometimes, although when he is I deserve it."_

Sefu started to say something else but the door banged open, startling both boys. They had been so lost in their stories and treats that they hadn't heard the telltale footsteps. Mujahid stood in the doorway, his glare boring holes into their heads.

**"****What do you two think you're doing? Are you making **_**friends**_**," **he sneered, spitting out the word.** "You shouldn't be making friends. Friends make you weak, vulnerable. Pathetic! I don't ever want to see you two talking again! You should be fighting! Get the hell up!"**

Harry scrambled to his feet with Sefu following closely behind, mimicking his actions since he couldn't understand the trainer.

Mujahid stalked over to the boys before grabbing Harry by the arm and throwing him into the wall. **"You should not be talking to this scum! He is beneath you. He is a tool, a dog. He is here to train you, not play dolls."**

Harry scrambled back to his feet and exchanged a look with Sefu. The usual emotionless mask was missing and fear was plastered all over his face. Fear for Harry.

Mujahid backhanded Harry, **"Do not look at that filth!"** he growled. **"Tell him to get the fuck out of here!"**

Harry turned to Sefu, _"You need to leave! Now!"_

Sefu hesitated, _"But…"_

_"__Go!"_ Harry shouted before being backhanded again. He watched Sefu run out the door before turning back to Mujahid.

**"****You are never to make friends. Friends will be your weakness, one that you can't afford in a fight. They're used against you and make even the strongest people do the stupidest things,"** Mujahid snarled, anger dripping from every syllable.

Harry just stared at the furious instructor, frozen with fear.

**"****You will be fighting with me today,"** he said, with a vicious smirk on his face. **"I think have been too easy on you."**

He lifted Harry up by the arm and wrenched it behind his back before pushing him roughly across the room. He shoved him to the floor before barking out, **"Fight!"**

The next several hours were the most painful Harry had experienced in his short life and he fell into bed, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill out when he landed on a cracked rib. He curled up trying to ignore the pain as he thought about Sefu. He understood that he shouldn't make friends but he genuinely liked the boy. Not only that but he was lonely. Talking to Sefu had cut the loneliness that prevailed whenever he wasn't with his father. Dudley had never allowed him to have friends before and now that he had one he really didn't want to let him go. He didn't know what he was going to do.

* * *

**Sefu:** African name; sword.

**A/N:** I'm not sure about whether or not child soldiers get much if any hand-to-hand combat training, although I doubt it. I would imagine that if they had 'elite' soldiers though that they would want such a thing. At least for this story they do.

Sefu's life story is entirely fictional, albeit inspired by a story I read recently. I couldn't really find any information on Beira; I chose it because it's fairly small and about the same latitude as the Sahara so they would be more focused on pastoral living than farming. In theory anyway.


	6. Waraabe Iyo Dawaco

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**April 1987**

Harry hesitated in the doorway. It was obvious that his aabbe was busy. The top few buttons of his nice shirt were undone and he looked like he was attempting to yank his hair out while leaning over a bunch of papers on his desk. After a moment he knocked and his aabbe looked up.

_"__Come on in Harry,"_ he sighed. He waited until Harry sat down across the desk before continuing, _"Is there something the matter?"_

Harry paused trying to think of a way to bring up his concerns. He took a deep breath before beginning, _"I was wondering about something."_

Idris waited a few moments before gesturing with his hand, _"Well? What is it?"_

_"__You know I've been training with a Somali soldier and I've talked to him some about how he became a soldier and he told me some things."_

Idris sat back, _"What did he tell you, child?"_

_"__Umm… he told me that a bunch of men took him from his family. He said they threatened to kill his family if he didn't go with them. Why would someone do that? Take a little boy away from his family? You always said that family is more important than anything?"_ Harry was very confused.

Idris sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand, _"There have been a lot of problems in Somalia as a whole and Mogadishu specifically. We need soldiers to keep the insurgents from hurting other people. The males of the country need to do their part to help keep their families safe, even if it means leaving them behind."_

_"__Insurgents? What is insurgents?"_ Harry asked.

_"__Insurgents are rebels; people that oppose the government through violent means. Do you understand?"_

Harry nods, _"Yes, Father. So, you take kids away from their parents so that they can be soldiers?"_

_"__It is an honour to protect one's family and home. These boys get to do more for their families here than they could at home. They get to fight the people who want to kill their family and keep them from hurting them."_

Harry furrowed his brows in thoughts, _"So… they leave their families to protect them."_ After Idris nodded Harry continued, _"Why threaten to kill their family?"_

_"__Well," _Idris began. _"Sometimes children can't see what we're trying to tell them. They don't understand why they need to come with us so we have to convince them in other ways."_

Harry scrunched his nose up, _"I guess, but that seems kind of mean."_

Idris laughed, _"I suppose it can seem that way, but they all come to understand why after they're here for a while. It's for their own good."_

Focusing on the grain of the wood in the desk Harry continued, _"Sefu doesn't seem to understand. He just says he was taken and misses his family."_

Harry looked up and flinched when Idris' eyes darkened. _"Mujahid has told me that you've been making friends with the soldier, is this correct?"_

He quailed under Idris' glare, _"Umm… I-I j-just think h-he's nice."_

A cold mask slipped onto Idris' face which sent chills down Harry's spine, _"You have family now; you have no need for friends."_

_"__But…"_

_"__No,"_ Idris interrupted. _"That child is a backwoods soldier. You are my heir. As such you need to act as befitting your station. You are not to be making friends, much less with those who are below you. You can interact with the other children in training or at business functions but you are not to be speaking with them outside those two arenas. Do you understand?"_ Harry could practically feel the drop in temperature elicited by his aabbe's mood.

_"__But…"_

_"__No!"_ Idris stood up as he slammed his hands down on the table._ "I am your father and you will listen to me. You __**will not**__ be conversing with the child from training. You __**will not**__ be making friends. You have your family; you have me, that is all you need. __**Do you understand?**__"_ Idris barked out causing Harry to jump.

_"__Y-yes sir,"_ Harry said meekly. _"I understand, sir."_

Idris smoothed out his rumpled shirt and sat back down, _"Good. Now I believe it is your bedtime. I will see you in the morning."_

_"__Yes, sir,"_ Harry whispered as he stood. He turned and left the room, sparing a glance at the door at his aabbe who was leaning back over his paperwork. He held his tears at bay by concentrating on the number of steps it took to make it back to his room. After Ayann tucked him into bed and left the room he finally let them fall.

* * *

**March 1987**

If it weren't for Mujahid's training Harry never would have been able to sneak out of his room without his guards noticing. His success didn't stop him from being terrified though. He knew that he shouldn't be talking to Sefu anymore, but he hadn't seen him in weeks. The last time he had seen him was when they were caught talking to each other. He missed the other boy and desperately wanted to speak to him.

He shimmied out through a window in a study and snuck around the back of the manor making his way over to the bunkers that the children slept in. Sefu had once told him where he slept, but even with that knowledge he was difficult to find.

He slipped into a bunker with no door, peeking at the boys sleeping on the floor until he saw Sefu's familiar shirt peeking out from a threadbare blanket. He crawled over to the other boy as quietly as he could and shook his shoulder.

Harry expected that Sefu would be like Dudley who practically needed to be shoved out of the bed to wake up but realised very quickly just how wrong he was. He had to stifle a yell when he found himself pinned to the floor with a knife to his throat.

'Ugh, if Sir knew how easily he pinned me I'd be in so much trouble,' Harry thought while trying to lie still. He stared into Sefu's eyes and saw the flicker of recognition.

Sefu lifted the knife from Harry's throat and whispered, _"What in the fuck are you doing here??"_

Harry rubbed his neck before whispering, _"I came to see you. I've missed you."_

_"__Do you know how much trouble we could get in? Oh forget it, follow me before we wake someone up."_

Sefu stood and hefted his gun until it was strapped across his back. He carefully made his way out of the room with Harry trailing after him. They walked away from the bunkers and out into an empty field with tall grasses and a few trees.

As soon as they got a good distance away from all of the bunkers he rounded on Harry, _"What in the hell are you thinking! We could get in so much trouble!"_

Harry looked down on the ground, avoiding Sefu's eyes. _"I missed you,"_ he mumbled.

Sefu shook his head and a small smile made its way onto his face, _"I've missed you too, little one."_

_"__Hey!"_ Harry said indignantly. _"I am not that small!"_

Sefu snickered, _"Sure you're not."_ He sat down amongst the grass and gestured for Harry to do the same before continuing, _"So how have you been, runt?"_

Harry glared at him, _"I've been fine. My lessons have gone back to fighting solely with Sir. I'm getting better though. I've actually been able to evade him for half of a lesson before he catches me. He's been teaching me to use my height to knock an opponent down. I'm supposed to kick at their knees and where their legs meet their body."_

_"__I see you've made progress. I'm glad I was of so much help,"_ Sefu snorted completely ignoring Harry's glare.

The two boys sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry started again, _"Tell me a story, Sefu. I've always liked your stories."_

Sefu sat for a few moments, furrowing his eyebrows before starting. _"__Once upon a time, a fox became a problem to a nomadic settlement. This fox attacked and ate their goats and sheep. One day the people gathered together to plan how they could kill this troublesome fox. The people decided to set a trap._

_"__The fox fell into the trap that was set for her. After awhile, the people came and tied her to a tree. The people decided to throw the fox into the fire._

_"__They dug a hole near the tree where the fox was tied, and they gathered wood and they put the wood into the hole. They lit a fire, and said, 'Let's come back when the fire is ready. Then we will throw this troublesome fox into the hole.'_

_"__Soon after the people left, a very hungry hyena came by. He heard the fox whining. He came closer, thinking he could steal the fox's meal. He was very surprised to see that the fox was tied up to a tree. 'What happened?' he asked._

_"__The fox answered, 'My uncle tied me here. My uncle really loves me. He tied me to this tree because he saw how thin and weak I am. He went out to kill a goat to cook in this fire so I can eat to get fat again. But I am not hungry now because I've been eating so much meat lately. Every time I try to escape, my uncle catches me, ties me to a tree, and he makes me eat more meat. Every time I eat, I get a stomach ache. I'm afraid that my uncle will kill me if I can't eat the meat.'_

_"__The hyena opened her mouth very wide because fat juicy meat was her favorite food. The fox said, 'Untie me from this tree so I can then tie you up. Then you can eat the meat, and I won't have a stomach ache.' The hyena agreed to the plan. He untied the fox, and the fox tied the hyena to the tree._

_"__When the people returned to where they had tied the fox to the tree, they found the hyena tied to the tree instead. They were surprised, and said, 'Hyena, where is the fox?'_

_"__Then the hyena said, 'I untied her. Now she is gone. The fox said that she was not hungry. I'll eat the meat you brought for her.'_

_"__Then the people threw the hyena into the fire. The greedy and foolish hyena died in the fire."_

Silence sat between the boys for several minutes before Harry asked, "_Where did you learn such wonderful stories?"_

Sefu sighed, _"Grandma used to tell them to me when I was little. She would often watch me when mother and father were out tending the camels before the boys were big enough to do it instead of mother. She would sit me and my brothers down in the kitchen and have us peel and chop vegetables__ with her and she would tell us stories. She would tell us about when we were born, about our parents, about the village and its history. She would also tell us fables like the one I told you."_

Harry smiled, _"That sounds fantastic. I was never told stories, or at least that I remember. Maybe I was before my Aunt and Uncle, but not since then. I asked once in a while about my parents, but I always got in a lot of trouble and stopped asking."_

_"__Tell me something about your life before coming to Somalia,"_ Sefu implored.

Harry scrunched his nose up, _"It wasn't very nice, you know. But I'll tell you if you insist."_ At Sefu's nod Harry continued, _"I lived on Privet Drive in Surrey, that's in England. All of the houses were the same, all of the lawns were perfect. Nothing like it is here. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle; both were obsessed with being normal. They didn't like me much, although I don't know why. They liked their son though. He is my age and resembles a beach ball,"_ Harry snickered as Sefu looked at him curiously.

_"__What is 'beach ball'?"_

_"__It's a soft round ball that you use to hit around at the ocean. My cousin is very large. He used to pick on me, playing 'Harry Hunting'. He and his friends would chase me around the neighborhood and beating me up when they caught me."_

Sefu looked at him, confused, _"Where were your Aunt and Uncle? Your friends?"_

Harry looked down at the ground and picked at a piece of grass, _"My Aunt and Uncle didn't care and I had no friends. Dudley, my cousin, would scare them all away."_ Harry was too busy looking at the ground to notice Sefu's concerned look.

_"__I'll be your friend,"_ Sefu declared, smiling when Harry's head shot up.

_"__You mean it?"_

_"__You bet! If your beach ball of a cousin tries to scare me away, I'll shoot him."_ Both boys laughed and smiled at each other.

_"__I don't want to talk about Surrey anymore," _Harry said. _"That's long past and father saved me from it."_

Sefu nodded and hesitated before continuing, _"I've been wondering… about the Warlord. How is he to you?"_

Harry cocked his head to the side and looked at him, confused, _"What do you mean?"_

Sefu looked at the ground and twisted some grass in his fingers before looking back up at Harry, _"I mean, what is he like to you. I've only seen him really mean and downright vicious. I've never seen him be nice."_

Harry glared at him, _"He's wonderful to me! He saved me and clothed me and told me stories. He taught me everything. He's wonderful!"_

Sefu looked up at him, confusion written all over his face, _"But he's so mean. Don't you know what he does? He beats and kills people…"_

_"__So do you!"_ Harry interrupted.

_"__But I must! If I don't my family will get hurt. He does it for fun. He's ruthless and will do anything for what he wants! He sends us off to die and doesn't care!"_ Sefu shouted, shooting up to his feet.

Harry clapped his hands over his ears. _"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! He is my father! He is my family! He must have some reason for what he does, I know it! You're lying!"_ he screamed as he stood.

The boys were so wrapped up in their argument that they didn't notice all of the attention they were drawing. Several guards heard their shouting and made their way into the field. They all had their weapons drawn and pointed at the boys before they noticed that the guards were there. They both fell silent as the gravity of the situation hit them.

**"****What in the hell is going on here!"** a voice boomed from the edge of the field as a man quickly made his way over. Absolute terror made its way across Harry's face as he realised who it was.

Mujahid slipped between the guards and stood in front of the two boys, looking every part the vicious soldier they knew him to be. They quailed under his glare before he turned and addressed the guards standing with their guns still cocked.

**"****Go back to your posts,"** he barked and gestured to one of the guards. **"You, take this… **_**boy**_** to the block and guard him there."** The guard nodded and grabbed Sefu by the arm, pulling him away from Harry.

Harry stared at the scene, horrified. He couldn't take his eyes of Sefu, the fear practically bleeding from the boy's eyes. After Sefu was pulled out of sight he turned slowly to look at Mujahid.

Mujahid sneered, **"So this is what your word is worth. Obviously I didn't make myself clear enough. I would teach you a lesson you would never forget, but the Warlord gave strict orders to leave your punishments to him."** He grabbed Harry roughly by the arm, leaving bruises ringing his upper arm as he dragged him back to the manor.

Mujahid kept up a tirade all the way to Idris' rooms. **"I don't know who you think you are. You may be the Warlord's heir but you are worthless. I always knew it and now I have proof. Maybe the Warlord will finally get rid of you. Yes, I can see it. He'll send to back to England like the British scum you are. **

**"****Or maybe he'll leave you to me,"** he smirked evilly.** "Put you under my command. I'd enjoy that. I'd break you until you didn't even know your name anymore. You'd become a ruthless killer, obeying every order. I would send you out on useless missions. Send you to your death. It's nothing you don't deserve,"** he spat out.

Harry was shaking uncontrollably. He wasn't sure his legs would even support him anymore, not that it mattered with the way he was being dragged. Mujahid's words enveloped him as every image evoked swamped his vision. He tried to deny it, deny that his aabbe would do any of those things, but he knew that he had disobeyed a direct order. He was worthless and maybe his aabbe would finally see it.

He was so engrossed in Mujahid's diatribe that he didn't notice when they finally made it to his aabbe's rooms.

**"****I need to speak with the Warlord,"** Mujahid addressed one of the guards posted outside the door.

The guard eyed the two of them and said,** "The Warlord is not to be disturbed."**

**"****Trust me,"** Mujahid sneered, **"He'd want to be disturbed for **_**this**_**."** He shook Harry like a rag doll for emphasis.

The guard looked at them warily before nodding and turning to knock on the door. They waited several moments before Idris opened the door, fully dressed despite the late hour.

He looked at the two people waiting at his door before stiffly saying, **"I hope there is a good reason for this."**

Mujahid sneered, **"This **_**scum**_** was found outside talking with one of the soldiers."**

A stony mask slid down on Idris' face, **"And which one was it?"**

**"****The one he was training with before,"** Mujahid said as he squeezed Harry's arm hard, causing Harry to cry out and drawing Idris' attention.

He looked up at his aabbe with trepidation. "Sir…"he began cautiously, slipping into English out of fear.

Idris slashed his arm and spoke in a voice colder than any Harry had heard before, **"No. You are not to speak. You have deliberately disobeyed me. That is something that will not be allowed. You will learn what happens when you defy me."** He turned to Mujahid, **"What of the soldier?"**

**"****He is in the block,"** Mujahid sneered.

**"****Good. Take this one and lock him into his room. He is not to leave it until I come for him. No one is to enter. No food will be provided in the interim. Do you understand?"**

A malicious smirk made its way across Mujahid's face, **"Perfectly, Sir."**

**"****Good."** Idris turned and closed the door to his room.

Harry stared at the closed door with wide eyes before being dragged off. He didn't snap back to reality until he was thrown bodily into his room. He cried out as his ribs smashed into one of the posts on his bed.

His vision blurred with pain and he barely noticed the sneer across Mujahid's face before the door was slammed shut. He curled up into a ball at the foot of his bed, sobs wracking his body.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't mean to disobey his aabbe but he wanted to see Sefu so badly. His friend. He desperately hoped that Sefu was doing okay.

He knew that everything was his fault. If only he hadn't snuck out his aabbe wouldn't be mad at him and Sefu would be all right. If only he hadn't been so loud! He had no idea what the block was but by the vicious smirk that was on Mujahid's face he had a feeling it was not good.

After several hours of crying Harry finally exhausted himself and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

**"****Wake the fuck up, scum,"** a voice barked in his ear as he felt a sharp pain spear through his side. He looked up from his place on the floor and saw Mujahid with his foot posed for another kick and cringed, preparing for it.

**"****That is enough. You will **_**not**_** treat my son this way. It is not your place,"** a cold voice interrupted from the doorway.

Mujahid sneered at Harry before turning, **"Yes, Warlord. Please forgive me."**

Harry sat up cautiously and peered at his aabbe from the doorway. His aabbe's face was cold, betraying nothing other than displeasure.

**"****You are to get up and dressed. Don't bother bathing; you're going to be getting dirty this morning. Ayann will lay out the proper clothing. You will meet with me straight away in the study,"** without a further word Idris turned and strode out of the room, Mujahid and the guards trailing after him.

Ayann entered the room after they left and sifted through his dresser draws for clothes. Harry could see the sadness and disappointment written all over her face. She didn't speak one word to him, just laying out his clothing on the bed before leaving the room.

Harry dressed as quickly as he could; he didn't want to upset his aabbe any further this morning. He rushed out of the room and walked quickly down the hallways. He wanted to run to get there quickly, but he didn't want to disobey anymore of his aabbe's edicts.

He paused outside the study door, trying to calm his nerves and postpone the meeting but one of the guards opened it and shoved him in, slamming the door behind him.

Idris was sitting at his empty desk, his hands folded in front of him. Harry could feel the anger and disappointment radiating off of him. There were no seats in front of the desk so Harry hesitantly walked up to it and stood, refusing to meet his aabbe's eyes. He couldn't help but pick at the hem of his shirt, a habit Ayann constantly railed him for.

_"__Look at me,"_ Idris said, his voice low and icy.

Harry timidly raised his head, his hands shaking as he saw the fury burning in his aabbe's eyes.

_"__You will not speak until I tell you to. You will just listen," _Idris paused._ "I do not know what you were thinking. Everything I tell you has a purpose. There was a reason I told you not to get close to the other children. You cannot trust those outside of family. People will use your friendship with them to hurt you. They will find your weaknesses and exploit them. Friends will hurt you eventually. Family will not. I will not._

_"__Not only did you deliberately disobey my orders, you put yourself in danger. When you first arrived here I told you that you were to be with at least one guard at all times but you snuck out and left the manor, leaving yourself open to attack. As my heir you are a target for those who want to hurt me. I have told you this before._

_"__I have clearly been too easy on you. It is obvious that I have not adequately emphasised your role as my heir and the requirements thereof. I will do so from now on. You will do everything I tell you immediately and without question. You are to trust me implicitly, trusting that I have your best interest in mind. You will obey my orders to the letter and conduct yourself in a manner befitting that of an heir. Any failure to complete any requirements and any disobedience will be met with an immediate and severe punishment. Do I make myself clear?"_

Harry struggled to maintain eye contact with his aabbe and nodded his head timidly. He was terrified of losing his aabbe. He loved him and was afraid that he was going to decide that he was too much trouble and send him back to the Dursleys'.

Idris' eyes narrowed, _"You will answer me verbally. You will not nod your head like a chicken. Do I make myself clear?"_

_"__Y-yes, s-s-sir,"_ Harry stuttered.

_"__Good,"_ Idris said as he stood. _"Follow me."_

He trailed after his aabbe, trying to keep up with his quick steps. He was confused when Idris led him outside but didn't even think to question him. He was led past the row of bunkers he had seen the night before and led to an imposing cement building. Outside of the building was Sefu, flanked by two guards, one of which held a gun to his head. Mujahid stood off to the side, a Kalashnikov held loosely in his hands and a satisfied smirk across his face.

Idris walked up to the group and turned to Harry who was visibly shaking. Terror filled Sefu's eyes and Harry could only look on in confusion.

_"__Mujahid has taught you to use a gun, correct?"_ After Harry nodded Idris continued. _"Not only have you disobeyed orders, but this boy stepped out of line. He should have known better than to consort with you and he knew that he was not allowed to leave the bunkers at night. He is old enough and has enough training that his lapse is unforgivable. As such, he must be punished. A soldier that does not follow orders is a worthless soldier,"_ he spat.

Harry looked at his aabbe, his eyes widening as he began to get an idea of what was going to happen.

_"__Since you are the cause of this uselessness,"_ Idris continued, _"You will be the one to fix the problem."_

He signaled to Mujahid who stepped forward to hand the gun to Harry. He had been allowed to shoot off this model once, but the backlash had injured his shoulder and since then they had stuck to handguns. Harry took the gun from Mujahid with numb fingers and looked up at his aabbe with wide, confused eyes.

Idris gestured to Sefu and the guards stepped away, the guard's gun still trained on the boy. _"This is your punishment and a lesson. He will be your first intentional kill, to teach you why you cannot get close to those around you. Shoot him."_

Harry started shaking, horrified at what his aabbe wanted him to do and not noticing Idris' careful wording. This boy was his first friend. He didn't want to kill him! He looked at Sefu. The boy was shaking so badly he could barely stand. Tears stood in his eyes as he stared at Harry imploringly.

_"__What did I tell you,"_ Idris barked. _"You are to follow my commands immediately and without question!"_

Harry could barely hold onto the gun. His whole body went numb as his mind raced. He thought of Sefu and the family he left behind; the camels he herded with his brothers and the meals he shared with his village.

**"****What are you doing scum? You should be shooting him, not standing there and acting so pathetic! I knew you weren't worthy of being the Warlord's heir!"** Harry vaguely heard Mujahid bark.

_"__This is your punishment Harry. Do you really want to fail me?"_

He didn't want to fail his aabbe, his family. He loved him and didn't want to disappoint him. He shakily lifted his arms, trying to slip into the hold Mujahid had showed him. Images of Sefu laughing flashed behind his eyelids.

**"****You're pathetic! Kill him! The scum isn't worth your time!"**

Harry's vision snapped back into focus when Sefu started pleading, _"Please, please don't kill me. I won't do it again! I'll be good! I swear it!"_ He started sobbing.

Mujahid stepped up and backhanded Sefu, knocking him to the ground. **"Do not speak, you trash,"** he barked.

Tears were streaming down Harry's face as he thought about Sefu's grandmother, how she would peel vegetables with the children and tell them stories about their village. He thought about how much Sefu adored and missed his grandmother.

"_Shoot him, Harry! Who's more important, this... __**friend**__," _Idris sneered, _"or your family?"_

Harry shook his head and lifted the gun to his shoulder, shaking so badly that his finger kept slipping on the trigger.

**"****Shoot him you worthless sod!"**

Harry jumped, squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed in his ears as he was shoved backwards by the backlash. He opened his eyes. He had missed. Sefu was still standing, shaking like a leaf and looking far too small in his baggy Mickey Mouse shirt.

**"****Pathetic!"** Mujahid sneered. **"I taught you better than that now **_**shoot!**_**"**

Harry shakily cocked the gun again and aimed, unable to stop the images of Sefu's stories from flashing behind his eyelids. Tears ran down his face as he tried to keep from sobbing.

_"__Shoot him Harry!"_

He squeezed his eyes shut and shakily pulled the trigger. The backlash from the gun sent him sprawling on the ground. He forced his eyes to open as he looked towards Sefu. He hadn't missed this time.

The bullet had hit the boy in the chest and he was slumped against the wall behind him, a macabre halo of red painted on the wall behind him. Blood spilled out of his chest, staining the smiling mouse and pooling on the ground below him. Their eyes locked and Harry could see the betrayal shimmering in his eyes before they dimmed. The blood slowed and Sefu's eyes became glassy, the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. After what felt like hours his head finally fell to his chest.

Harry's tears dried up as his body went numb. He vaguely felt Mujahid lift him and thump him on his back in congratulations. He barely heard his aabbe speaking to him, unable to tear his eyes from his dead friend. Somebody clamped a hand on his shoulder and shook him until he broke out of his trance.

He saw his aabbe standing above him and felt himself lifted to his feet.

_"__I'm proud of you, son. I knew you could do it,_" he smiled and pulled Harry into a hug.

He could barely feel his aabbe's arms around him, drawing little comfort from the display of affection. He was quickly released as Idris continued.

_"__Your punishment isn't over,"_ he said sternly. _"The soldiers aren't here to clean up your messes and I will not have them wasting their time. You will take the body over to the ditches and bury him."_

Harry could only stare as his aabbe turned to leave. He felt Mujahid's bruising grip on his arm as he was led away from his dead friend. The trainer shoved a shovel into his hand and showed him the ditch. He stumbled back to the building and stared down at the body of his friend, unable to get himself to move.

**"****Get going!"** Mujahid barked. **"I don't want to baby sit you all day!"**

Harry shook his head and bent down, grabbing his first friend beneath the arms before dragging him in the direction of the ditch. Sefu was heavy and Harry was quickly panting from exertion. Every time he paused Mujahid yelled at him to continue. He eventually turned the body around and dragged it by its bare feet. He couldn't look away from the blank eyes staring at him. Sefu's mouth was opened in a parody of life. Harry kept expecting him to say something but nothing ever came.

It all seemed like a dream, despite the blood coating his arms. He finally made it to the ditch and dropped Sefu's legs. He gratefully turned away from his friend and picked up the shovel. His mind was blank as he began digging, piling the earth next to the hole. It seemed like he shoveled for ages before Mujahid told him to stop. He was instructed to pull off the boy's shorts since they weren't badly stained with blood. They would be given to another soldier.

**"****Put the body into the hole and bury it. The Warlord said you are to clean up and meet him in the study,"** Mujahid growled and left.

Harry stared down at his half naked friend. He couldn't pull his eyes away. It seemed unreal. Only a few hours before, he was laughing with this child and swapping stories. He felt bad that he had fought with him. He wished he could apologise, both for the argument and for getting him killed. If he hadn't made friends with him, if he hadn't disobeyed his aabbe Sefu would still be alive.

The guilt swamped Harry, nearly bringing him to his knees in its intensity. This was all his fault. If he had listened to his aabbe Sefu would be up and doing whatever it was he did during the day. If he hadn't sneaked out to see him, Sefu might have been able to play with his new brother or sister. He could have spent his days herding camel and telling stories to his nieces and nephews.

He knelt down and whispered an apology before rolling his friend into the shallow grave. The boy landed on his side, arms twisting at an unnatural angle. Harry stared down for a few minutes, holding back the sobs that threatened to wrack his body before reaching for the shovel.

He watched, detached, as scoop after scoop of soil covered Sefu, the dirt coating his eyes and sticking to the congealing blood. Slowly the body was fully covered and all that was left of his first friend was a mound of soft dirt.

Harry gazed around the ditches, looking at all the mounds of unmarked graves. He knew that his friend had joined the nameless dead with only Harry left to mourn him. His family would never know; they would never know what happened to their son… brother… grandchild.

He turned and left the ditch, returning the shovel before making his way to his room. The bath had not been drawn nor had his clothes been set out, evidence to how angry his aabbe was with him. He ran the bath, scrubbing himself until he was as red as the water before getting out and dressing himself in slacks and a nice shirt.

He made his way to the study, trailed by his guards. The silence in the study was deafening. His aabbe was sitting in front of the fireplace reading a book. Harry stood at the door, waiting for his aabbe to acknowledge his presence. He stared at the floor with his hands clasped behind his back trying to blank out his mind and keep his tears from falling.

Idris looked up from his book and motioned for him to come to him. Harry felt him slip a finger under his chin and his head was lifted to look him in the eyes.

A soft look slipped into Idris' eyes as he spread his arms, _"Oh, child."_

Harry dove into his arms and sobbed out the grief that had been threatening to overcome him all morning. Idris pulled him up into his lap and began rocking him, carding his hand through his hair.

_"__Oh child, what am I going to do with you?"_ He continued to rock Harry, soothing him the best he could.

"_**W-why**__?"_ Harry croaked out between sobs. He felt betrayed.

Idris stopped rocking and lifted up Harry's chin so that he was able to look him in the eye, _"You had to learn, child. You deliberately broke two rules I had set out for you. I do not give out orders lightly. Everything I tell you has a purpose, even if you don't understand it."_

_"__B-but why did I have to kill Sefu? H-he was my f-friend,"_ Harry sobbed, trying to pull his face away from his aabbe's insistent grip.

Idris' dark eyes bored into Harry, _"That is precisely why. You can have allies. You can have associates. You can have lovers, but you can't afford to have friends."_ He released his chin and Harry buried his face into his aabbe's neck.

_"__I-it __**hurts**__ father,"_ he whimpered.

He felt his aabbe nod, _"It does hurt child. Friends will always hurt you in the end."_

Harry curled up further into his aabbe's arms, drawing comfort from his only family. Sefu had been his first friend. He had enjoyed his time with the boy and had loved listening to the stories of his home, but oh god did he hurt. He had never hurt like this before, not with the Dursleys, not even with Mujahid. His heart ached in a way he never wanted to experience again and he would do anything to make the feeling go away.

Idris continued to card his fingers through Harry's hair before speaking, _"I am sorry that I had to do this to you Harry, but it was the only way for you to understand. It's better to have a little pain now than to get hurt far worse later."_

Harry burrowed further into his aabbe's lap, unwilling to think of a pain worse than this, _"I think I understand now father. Thank you."_

Idris nodded, _"You're welcome, son."_

* * *

**A/N: **Sefu told the fable of the Hyena and the Fox as written by the Somali Folktale Project. Just google it and you'll find it. To get a feel for the language, here it is in Somali:

**Waraabe Iyo Dawaco  
**

Bari ayaa dawaco adhi fara badan ka cuni jirtay reero meel deggan. Adhigaas oo riyo iyo idaba lahaa. Maalin danbe ayaa dadkii meel isugu yimaadeen waxaaney ka wada hadleen sidii ay dawacadaa dhibta badan iskaga dili lahaayeen. Waxay dadkii talo ku gaadheen in dabin loo dhigo dawacada. Dawacadii waxay ku dhacday dabinkii loo dhigay. Dadkii waxay ku xidheen dawacadii geed jiridiis, si looga aarsado oo waxaa talo lagu gaadhey in dab lagu dhex rido.

Dadkii waxay soo gureen qoryo xaabo ah oo aad u badan. Waxay xaabadii ka buuxsheen god aad u weyn oo ay ka qodeen geedkii ay dawacadu ku xidhnayd agtiisa. Markaas ayey xaabadii dab ku huriyeen waxayna yidhaahdeen, 'Aan iska tagno, oo marka dabku uu aad u shidmo ku soo noqonno oo dawacada ku dhex ridno.' Waraabe aad u gaajaysan ayaa wuxuu maqlay cidii dawacada. Markaas ayuu soo orday oo is yidhi, aad ka eryatid neefka ay dilootey maanta, waraabihii wuxuu u yimi dawacadii xidhneyd.

Intuu yaabey ayuu ku yidhi, 'Naa dawaco yaa geedka kugu xidh-xidhay?' Markaas ayey dawacadii tidhi, 'Waxa igu xidhay adeerkay.' Waraabihii (Dhurwaa) ayaa hadana yidhi, 'Oo muxuu kuu xidhay?' Dawacadii ayaa tidhi, 'Adeerkay aad buu ii jicelyahay.' Wuxuu arkay in aan caato ahay markaa wuxuu ii qalay wan weyn oo aad u buuran. Dabkaasna wankaas ayaa lagu karin doonaa. Aniguna waan diidanahay in aan cuno wankaas buuran, waayo gaajo ima hayso oo maalmahan oo dhan ayaan hilib cunayey, oo waxaan ka cabsanayaa inaan calool xanuun ka qaado. Markii aan damcay in aan ka tagana, intuu i soo qabtay ayuu geedkan igu xidhay. Markaan hilibkii cuni kari waayeyna wuu i diley.

Waraabihii ayaa intuu afka aad u kala qabtay illeen waa wax hilib iyo baruur jecele yidhi, 'Ihi! ihi! ihi! aniga ayaa xariga kaa furaya ee aniga geedka igu xidh, si aan anigu u cuno hilibkaas adiguna uga nabad gasho.' Markii dadkii ku soo noqdeen meeshii dawacadu ku xidhnayd, si ay dabka ugu dhex tuuraan, waxay u yimaaddeen waraabe ku xidhan geedkii. Dadkii ayaa intey yaabeen yidhi, 'War Waraabe meeday dawacadii?' Markaas ayuu waraabihii yidhi, 'aniga ayaa xarigii ka furay oo way tagtay.'

Dadkii ayaa yidhi, 'Oo maxaad uga furtay?' Waraabihii wuxuu yidhi, 'waxay i tidhi dawacadii aniga gaajo ima hayso, ee hilibka la ii keeni lahaa adigu cun.' Markaas ayey dadkii isagii dabkii ku tuureen. Sidaas ayaa waraabihii isku darsaday hunguri xumada iyo doqonnimada ku dhintay.

* * *

I'm sure you guys hate me now. As disgusting as it is, this really happened to one girl. She had to shoot and bury her friend.


	7. Welcome to the Militia, Princess

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**June 1987**

**"****Have a seat,"** Idris said to Mujahid, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.

Mujahid sat gracefully, **"Good evening, Warlord. You requested to speak with me?"**

**"****Indeed I did. You've been training Harry for nearly nine months now, correct?"**

He nodded, **"I have, Warlord."**

Idris cocked his head to the side, focusing on Mujahid's facial expressions, **"How he is progressing?"**

Mujahid suppressed a flinch and schooled his features to hide the distaste he had for the pipsqueak. It would do no good to show the Warlord his dislike of the chosen heir.

Idris narrowed his eyes, having seen the irritation and mild anger flash briefly across Mujahid's face. **"Tell me **_**honestly**_** how he is progressing. Do not forget who you are speaking about and who you are speaking to," **he growled.

Mujahid sat up straighter and looked Idris in the eyes, **"His progression was slow to start. He improved a bit quicker when he was working with the soldier that was closer to his size, but since killing the child he has shown a dedication that was previously unmatched. He has progressed more quickly in the last month than he had in the first six.**

**"****He shows a particular skill with weapons, specifically guns. I think he will be particularly good as a sniper once he trains his hands to stop shaking."**

Silence fell over the room as Idris considered Mujahid's assessment. He stared at the other man, looking for the truth behind his evaluation. Finding no deception he nodded and said, **"I am planning to put him into the militia training in the beginning of August. Do you think he is ready for it?"**

A sneer began to make its way across Mujahid's face and he opened his mouth to speak only to be cut off by Idris.

**"****I respect your ability to train and get the most out of a soldier so I have given you a lot of leeway in how you treat my son. I would not allow anyone else to do what you have done,"** Idris snarled.** "However, there is a limit to what I'm willing to put up with. I do not care how you feel about him because it is not your place to question my judgment. You are not to allow your personal opinions to cloud your treatment of him nor your assessment of his abilities, do I make myself clear?"** The warning was evident in his voice.

Mujahid carefully kept his face blank but the way he rubbed the scars on his left arm betrayed his anxiety, **"Crystal, Warlord."**

Idris nodded, his demeanor still icy. **"Good. Now, do you think he is ready to train with the militia?"** he enunciated slowly.

Mujahid took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering carefully, **"He is several years younger than the other recruits, but with the training I have given him he ought to survive. While most children his age might not be able to keep up physically with the exercises, he has built up a level of fitness that should put him on par with the other children."**

**"****Good,"** Idris smiled, unnerving Mujahid.** "I had another reason for bringing you in to speak this evening. As I said earlier, I respect your experience in training and shaping soldiers to fit your needs. I am concerned about how Harry will respond to the training most of the children go through. The soldiers in the militia are taught to be followers; they are taught to follow orders without question. Harry cannot be like that. He needs to lead. He needs to be able to think independently and decide on the best course of action without relying on others. How can we develop that?"**

Mujahid looked down at the floor in thought, rubbing his chin with his hand absentmindedly, hismissing fingers conspicuous. He looked back up at Idris before answering, **"We need to make sure that Harry doesn't fully subscribe to the system set up. He needs to be isolated from it enough to promote creativity and independent thought.**

**"****We train our militia to work in groups, not enough so that they get attached to each other but so that they can work effectively together. A leader cannot form this sort of camaraderie. We would have to first ensure that he is isolated from the other children. He cannot see himself as one of them. In order to do that, we need to make sure that the other soldiers don't see him as one of them."**

Mujahid sat back in thought, absentmindedly rubbing the stumps of his fingers across the stubble on his chin. Idris sat and watched him, waiting for him to continue his train of thought.

After several minutes Mujahid continued, **"We need the other kids to hate him. The isolation and mistreatment will make everything more difficult and he'll have to learn to adapt and persevere. **

**"****If we do it correctly he'll stop seeing the other soldiers as his peers but instead as below him. He'll see himself as above the system we have set up and he'll perceive the structure as flawed. This ought to keep him from following the orders blindly. Once he reaches this point he can be taught to lead."**

Idris stared at nothing as he considered Mujahid's assessment. It seemed logical. **"What will keep him from breaking? This sort of treatment would be difficult for any child to withstand,"** Idris asked.

Mujahid nodded, **"That is where you come in. I have seen how much he strives to please you. A lot of his drive to succeed is to earn your praise. You will give him the reason to continue with his training when he feels like he can't take anymore. He will persevere for you."**

Idris nodded, staring absently in thought. He didn't like any of this, but he knew it was necessary. He didn't want his Harry to break under the strain.

Mujahid studied him for a moment before he continued, **"I know you have a soft spot for the boy, but this must happen to shape him into the heir you desire. You need to make sure you do not interfere, no matter how much you want to. He cannot think that anyone will come to his aid when he gets in trouble or he would begin relying on other people."**

Idris nodded and sighed. He knew this from his own childhood. Nobody had been there to help him when he was targeted by other kids and even adults. Nobody had been there to save him when a drugged up soldier held a gun to his head. He had to rely on himself and he was stronger for it. He made his own decisions. He was the master of his own fate.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. He felt bad about what he was about to put Harry through, but it had to be done. 'He'll be grateful in the end,' he thought.

He sat up straight and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, one pinky hanging loosely, **"All right. I'll trust your judgment but I have two caveats. First, there will be no physical punishments by you or any of the other trainers. No one will lay a hand on my son outside of training exercises. Find other methods of disciplining him."**

Mujahid nodded, he had expected that and had already thought up several ways to deal with the pipsqueak.

**"****Second, he will be given no drugs."** Mujahid opened his mouth to protest but Idris interrupted him, **"I know that they are necessary for the effectiveness of the soldiers, but I will not have an addict for an heir. That is not up for negotiation. Do you understand?"**

Mujahid nodded in submission, **"Yes, Warlord."**

**"****Good. Now I have other business to attend to. Make sure to inform the other trainers that they will not lay a hand on my son outside of combat exercises. Good day."**

Mujahid stood and gave the Warlord a half bow before turning to leave the room. While he wasn't happy with the restrictions the Warlord had placed on him, he looked forward to breaking the child. His lips curled up into a cruel smirk. He enjoyed tearing down and rebuilding the children into the image he wanted. The psychological game appealed to his sadistic nature. He couldn't wait to play with the spoiled heir.

* * *

**August 1987**

To say that Harry was excited would be an understatement; he was ecstatic. He was finally going to train with the other soldiers he had seen on the grounds. Ayann finally gave up trying to keep him still and threw up her hands, sending him off to breakfast. He barely kept himself from bouncing in his seat as he eagerly served himself some canjeero and shaah.

_"__Are you ready for your first day training with the militia, Harry?"_ Idris asked, smiling at his son's exuberance.

Harry nodded happily, _"Yes, Father."_

_"__Good. Make sure to abide by your instructors and make me proud."_

Harry gave his aabbe a huge smile and jumped up to hug him before leaving the room, Roble trailing behind him.

They quickly made their way out to the courtyard where the children were already lined up. Three men stood in a group in front of the children talking amongst themselves.

As he neared the men one of them broke away looking at him with disgust before sneering at him, _"I see that the princess has arrived. It is nice of you to join us, your highness. We have been waiting eagerly for you to grace us with your presence."_

Harry stopped short as eyes widened at the disgust dripping from the man's lips. He didn't know what he had done to earn his ire.

_"__I realise that you are afforded special… privileges as the Warlord's son,"_ he sneered, _"but please try to arrive on time. We have to get up at dawn to begin training; you could at least do us the favor of arriving here by seven." _

Harry nodded hesitantly. Nobody had told him when to show up but that didn't seem to matter. He slipped into the group as quietly as he could, sneaking glances at the other children. There were both boys and girls, although far fewer of the latter. Most of them had the brown cargo shorts that Sefu had worn and nearly all of them were too large. Most of the kids' clothing was dirty and much worn with tears and holes in random places. They all either wore flip flops or were barefoot. Harry noticed just how out of place he looked. His clothing was clean and fit well and he wore fairly new shoes. While Harry's skin had darkened considerably after coming to Somalia, he still looked incredibly pale compared to the deep browns and blacks surrounding him. He fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable around the other kids, many of whom were glaring at him.

_"__Now that his highness has joined us we can begin. This will be your new home for the next seven months. You will be sleeping in the bunker you were assigned last night. You are to keep your bunker clean at all times, your blanket folded and put away. All of you will be getting up at dawn to begin training, except for the heir of course,"_ he said sarcastically, gesturing to Harry._ "You are to come here as soon as you wake up for instructions._

_"__There is to be no crying or complaining. You are no longer children who need coddling. You are soldiers. Any crying or whinging will be met with severe punishments. The enemy won't care about your feelings and neither do we. Your enemy will give you no quarter and neither shall we. We will be training you to fight, to kill the people that threaten your families and your homes. Do not forget that. You are here for a purpose."_

He looked around the group, making sure that everyone was paying attention before continuing, _"Sometimes soldiers get it into their heads to runaway. You dishonour your families by attempting to flee your duty. You put them in danger by refusing to fight so that they can live. Any runaways will be punished severely and made an example of. And trust me, we __**will**__ catch you."_

The first man stepped back only to be replaced by another who had a deeper, richer voice. _"We will not give you our names. You do not need them. You are to address us as either 'trainer' or 'sir'. Do you understand?"_

A scattering of _'yes, trainer'_ and _'yes, sir'_ could be heard making its way across the group.

The man snarled before yelling, _"You will answer any question loudly and clearly with either a 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir'! Do. You. Understand?"_

Several of the soldiers jumped, _"Yes, sir!"_

The man sneered, _"Pathetic. Go run around the field until we tell you otherwise,"_ he pointed to a large grassy plain behind the bunkers. Most of the group started running right away but a couple soldiers were too slow and the trainers kicked them repeatedly as they tried to make their way behind the bunkers. Several of the kids were limping as they tried to run making them a better target for the trainers. Harry found himself grateful for the running Mujahid had put him through. He was able to keep up with some of the fastest kids and wasn't targeted by the trainers.

_"__Get back into formation!"_ a voice barked across the field after an unknown length of time. The soldiers scurried across the grass, sprinting to the courtyard and attempting to avoid the trainers. They grouped together loosely in no particular order, the group taking on an amoeboid shape.

The trainers started shoving the soldiers into each other, some of the kids tripping over each other's feet.

_"__This will be the only time I allow this to happen without punishment. When I say get into formation you are to line yourselves up!"_ The trainers continued to shove them, pushing them into lines with a foot between each soldier. Instead of a shapeless mass they now formed a block.

They spent the morning running through drills to instill the directions they were to be taught. They moved back and forth, right and left in their formation at the trainers' commands. They dropped to the ground and crawled on their bellies repeatedly, something that particularly seemed to amuse the trainers. While Harry ate breakfast and dinner with his father lunch was to be taken with the other soldiers. He truly missed the rich food he had grown accustomed to over the last year but quickly found that the taste didn't matter much when they were only given two minutes to scarf down what they were given.

They spent the afternoon digging trenches by the grave he had buried Sefu in. He didn't think the rest of the kids knew what the trenches were probably going to be used for and chose not to enlighten them.

Despite all of the abuse he had learned to endure at the hands of Mujahid, Harry was reaching his breaking point. He had only ever been targeted by one person at a time up to that point but now all of the trainers seemed to have it out for him. Not only did they hurl insults at him but they also made sure to consistently point out the special privileges he got. The other kids became more embittered at every reminder and took it upon themselves to do whatever they could to hurt him. They kept tripping him and stepping on his feet, slowing him down and making him a better target for the ire of the trainers.

As it inched towards dusk Harry stood panting in formation as the trainers continued to throw abuses, both verbal and physical, at the group as a whole and insults to him in particular. He thought about his aabbe and his warm bed, wondering what he did to deserve this treatment. The bitterness roiled in his belly and trickled up to his eyes, tears filming them over. One of the trainers noticed this and jumped on him.

_"__Aww, isn't this baby pathetic. What, you can't handle playing with the big boys?"_

The trainer seemed to take the tears that began falling down Harry's cheeks as a personal insult and backhanded him. Harry was knocked on the ground and he could taste the coppery tang of blood.

The trainer spat on him and growled, _"You are pathetic. You are not fit to be the Warlord's heir."_

Harry wiped the blood off his mouth and looked up at the man glaring down at him. He saw someone moving quickly behind him and recognised him as his aabbe. The trainer narrowed his eyes at him, noticing that he wasn't paying attention and swiftly kicked his side. Harry clutched at his ribs, the pain exploding through his torso as Idris reached them. Harry's eyes widened at the fury evident in his aabbe's eyes.

The trainer looked at him confusedly before turning around to follow his gaze. He only made it halfway around before the world went black.

Harry sat frozen on the ground, looking up at his aabbe who had a handgun aimed at the trainers head. Before he could even blink the gun was fired and blood joined the sweat and dirt covering him. He barely rolled out of the way in time before the body fell on him and looked up at his aabbe in fear.

Idris ignored Harry's stare and lowered his arm, turning to look at all the trainers. His voice was icy as he addressed them, _"I thought I had made it clear that none of the trainers were to lay a hand on my son as a punishment. Find other ways to discipline him."_

He spent another several moments glaring at the cowering trainers before focusing on Harry. He held out his hand to help him up before saying, _"I think you need to get cleaned up, hmm? Dinner will be served soon and it would not do for you to be late."_

Harry nodded and stared down at the ground while he followed him back to the manor. He didn't want to see the anger and bitterness that he was sure stood in every soldier's eyes. Not for the first time that day did he wish that he was treated no differently. Make no mistake, he loved his aabbe and enjoyed living in the manor with him, but he wasn't sure he could withstand the anger and isolation that his position engendered.

He sighed and shook his head, making his way to his room. He ignored the pain radiating from his jaw and made his way to the warm bath that was no doubt waiting for him.

* * *

**September 1987**

**"****How's he doing?"** Idris asked before gesturing Mujahid to have a seat.

Mujahid sat and crossed his legs before answering, **"He was doing well at first, keeping up despite the years the other soldiers have on him."**

**"****And now?"**

Mujahid tapped his three fingers on his ankle absentmindedly, **"Now, not so much. He's struggling because the other kids are targeting him, tripping and sabotaging him anytime they can."**

Idris looked at him in confusion, **"Why now? Why didn't they start right away?"**

**"****I think you killing one of the trainers the first day scared them, Warlord. I believe that they thought they weren't allowed to hurt him either,"** Mujahid answered.

**"****What made them change their minds?"**

**"****Our plan to isolate him happened,"** Mujahid said plainly.** "We made them hate him and now they're acting on it. They hated him enough to hurt him in little ways despite their fear and when they realised that they wouldn't be punished for it they got worse."**

**"****And Harry? How's he dealing with it?"** Idris couldn't keep a note of worry out of his voice.

**"****He's persevering,"** Mujahid sneered.** "He has been taking it and pushing right on, ignoring them. He has become more isolated, but it seems like it's by choice now. I can see the anger in his eyes though. He's starting to hate them back. I expect that he won't be able to put up with it much longer,"** he seemed to answer distractedly, looking like he was talking more to himself than Idris.

**"****Good,"** Idris said as he sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his lap.** "He can't just roll over and take it. That's not the point of this exercise. He needs to be strong and rule over the other soldiers. They are beneath him and it's time he recognised that. Make sure to let me know if anything changes. You are dismissed."**

Mujahid nodded and stood, leaving Idris to his thoughts.

* * *

Harry had been watching the other kids play football on one of the few afternoons they had off. He sat at the edge of the field sitting in the shade and out of the hot sun. While his skin had turned much darker than it had been in England, he still got sunburned when the other kids did not.

He watched the other soldiers kick the ball around and wished he was out there but he didn't ask to play; not only did he not know how but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed. The last several weeks had been harsh and while he was grateful for his aabbe's protection from the physical punishments from the trainers, it seemed to only make the other soldiers more angry and, consequently, more vicious. Every caning they got seemed to make them more bitter since he didn't suffer the same pain they did.

He heard the footsteps as they approached him. Between the training he had received and the extracurricular attacks from the other soldiers he had developed a sharp ear. He estimated that there were three to four of them this time. He could see the guards from where he sat but knew that they would not come to his aid. The first time his happened he expected the guards to come help him, to keep the other kids from hurting him, but he quickly learned that he was on his own. Nobody would be coming to help him. He had to deal with his on his own.

_"__Isn't it the little lung. Why aren't you in your castle, princess?"_ The name one of the trainers had given him on the first day had stuck and while it made Harry bristle every time he heard it, he learned to ignore it the best he could. But the lung insult made him laugh every time. He guessed that they meant he was pink and spongy but he found it funny all the same. He certainly couldn't fault their originality.

Harry sighed. He knew that ignoring them only seemed to make things worse so he asked, _"What do you want, Effiom?"_

Effiom growled. He was one of the oldest soldiers in the camp at 15 and he lorded it over everyone else. Harry knew he didn't like people calling him by his birth name, preferring to go by Colonel Rambo, so he made sure to use it frequently. He took what little pleasures he could.

Harry felt one of the boys grab him by his arm and drag him to his feet. He was turned to face them and saw there were three of them this time. He was only ever successful in one-on-one fights. He knew his best bet was to take them out one by one swiftly before they could gang up on him all at once.

He pulled all of the anger he had been storing up the previous couple days and let it pool in his belly. He felt his anger sizzle through his nerves as he twisted and grabbed the arm holding him. He pushed the boy against the tree he had been leaning on and braced his forearm against the bark, pushing on the wrist _hard_. He felt the arm crack and wrap around the trunk before he let go. The boy cried out and curled over cradling his arm to his chest. Harry grabbed his head and drove his face into his knee. The boy fell over silently, the thump of him hitting the floor drowned out by the boys playing football.

He turned to the other two soldiers, his face blank as he took their postures in. They look like they had been readying themselves to attack but had frozen when the other boy hit the ground. They quickly regained their senses and glared at him.

_"__Well, well. It seems that the princess has claws after all. Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll get yours."_ An expression Harry didn't recognise flitted across Effiom's face but he brushed it off as unimportant. The two boys turned and walked away, leaving the third unconscious at the base of the tree. Harry sneered at the prone figure and kicked him in the side, reveling in the crack that drifted up to his ears before walking away with a small smile on his face.

* * *

It had been a hard day thus far. The sun was beating down on them and everyone was dripping in sweat. The trainers had them running on an asphalt road in order to build up their feet and pain tolerance, or at least that was what Harry figured. He hoped there was some reason although a small portion of his mind thought it was simply for their own enjoyment. He ignored the blisters bubbling up on his feet and shoulders choosing instead to focus on the table they were being led to.

It was a simple, long and slightly rickety table that they had built the day before out of wood they had to chop. Dozens of Kalashnikov assault rifles sat on the table lined up so that they were easily accessible from the sides. Harry chose to focus on the guns instead of the trainers who were beating the few soldiers who had come in too slowly. He tuned out the dull thudding by running through the information Mujahid had taught them about that model.

Widely known as the AK-47, Kalashnikovs were popular in the African militias. Its design was originally intended for the Soviet militaries in the Arctic. The gloves the soldiers had to wear greatly hampered their ability to use and repair most guns so the AK-47 were easy to maintain and simple enough for children to use. While he had learned how to assemble the rifle months ago, the group had been taught a couple days prior.

Harry hated using the Kalashnikovs. When he was first taught how to use it he could hardly lift the gun up, much less aim and fire. Now he was barely able to go through a magazine and his arms hurt for days after from the strain. Never mind the bruises that the kick back left. He was constantly worried that it was going to dislocate his shoulder.

_"__Each of you is to take a gun and ready yourselves for disassembly and reassembly. We are going for speed and effectiveness. The one who finishes first, __**successfully**__, will be exempt from running the ram,"_ the trainer wore a sadistic smirk.

Harry suppressed a shudder. The ram always reminded him of how grateful he was to be under his aabbe's protection. He never wished to experience it. He looked around and could see the determination in the other soldiers' eyes. The trainers certainly knew how to provide an effective reward. Harry stood up straighter. Even if he wouldn't have to run the ram anyway he certainly was going to try to be the fastest. It didn't matter to him that failing might save one of the other soldiers; he just wanted to be the best.

_"__Get ready," _the trainer barked. After waiting a moment he signaled for them to begin.

The clicks of metal on metal faded into the background as Harry focused on his gun. He pulled the charging handle back and removed the receiver cover without bothering to check to see if the weapon was unloaded. He pushed and then lifted the spring assembly from the raceway and quickly pulled the carrier assembly away from the rear. He rotated and removed the bolt before replacing it and reassembling the whole rifle.

Quickly snapping the magazine back into place he banged the butt of the gun down on the table to indicate that he was finished. Several other bangs sounded quickly after him, something that brought a smile to his face. The trainer nodded at him and he pulled the trigger and the boom that followed indicated his success. He looked around the table at the other kids and could see the vicious look in their eyes. Effiom seemed particularly homicidal but it was mixed in with the unidentifiable look Harry had seen the week before.

One of the trainers patted him on the shoulder and barked at the rest of the soldiers to drop the guns on the table and undress. The children quickly stripped their clothes off, leaving their underwear on, and left them where they stood. They had learned the hard way not to attempt to take their clothing with them.

Harry trailed after the trainers to watch. As the hatred for the others grew he took greater pleasure in watching them in pain. Most of the soldiers made their way over to the rocky pit quickly, wanting to get it over with while a few straggled behind. Those in the back found themselves caned as they ran, speeding up to catch up with the others.

Harry walked up to the side of the pit, looking down at the kids rolling over the rocks. Their bodies were spotted red where the thorns had pierced them, painting the rocks with every roll. He didn't know who decided to add the barbs to the rocks but thought it was a brilliant addition. The trainers walked across the rocks following the soldiers, their shoes protecting their feet. Occasionally they would lash out with their feet or their sticks if they thought someone was moving too slowly. Those that they hit tended to bleed more freely since they were shoved down further onto the thorns.

He felt someone sidle up to him as the first soldiers finished running the ram and turned to see his aabbe.

_"__I heard you have performed well in your ammunitions training, consistently coming first in all your tests,"_ Idris remarked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded and smiled, _"I have, f-sir."_ He quickly corrected himself before he slipped the endearment. It wouldn't do to say such things in front of others.

Idris gifted him with a full smile, pride shining in his eyes. Harry smiled in return, happy to have pleased his aabbe. He gave one last look to the soldiers finishing the ram and sneered.

'Let them get what they deserve,' he thought viciously. He turned and followed his aabbe into the manor, looking forward to a warm bath and good food.

* * *

**Shaah:** Tea

**Effiom:** African name; crocodile (I thought it was more than apt)

**A/N:** Disgustingly enough, the 'ram' is real. This is a method used in Honduras on child recruits to instill fear and humility, weakening them and making them pliable. I am having these children learning to use guns earlier than they normally would. Generally it would be a couple months before they were allowed to use them.

Many boys in children militias actually like to go by titles such as 'Colonel Rambo' and 'Sergent Killsalot'. It makes adults from other areas feel really strange when the kids demand to be called that, and you just don't say no to a child hopped up on_ brown brown_ with a semiautomatic weapon in their hand.

I found the lung slur in a political blog when I was looking for Somali insults. A Somali yelled: "_Medabkiisu waa sambab!"_ at the blogger which according to him means something to the effect of "_You look like a lung_". Highly amusing.

I dislike drugs, a _lot_. I have a lot of personal problems with them. I will not ignore the fact that they are heavily used in the militias and have been for centuries, but I will not have Harry on them.

Inspiration for this and the next couple chapters came from various places including _Ender's Game_ by Orson Scott Card, _A Long Way Gone _by Ismael Beah, _My Gun was as Tall as Me_ published by the Human Rights Watch, and a variety of stories, videos and interviews from child soldiers that I found on the internet.


	8. Mahogany Pyre

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

**A/N:** This chapter has an **attempted rape** scene. It doesn't last very long nor does it get very far but I thought I'd warn ya.

Narcoleptic86 left a review about guns and the likelihood of Harry being able to lift and use an AK-47 last chapter. After thinking about it a bit I decided to tweak the last chapter. Thanks narcoleptic86 for your advice!

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**October 1987**

It had been a long two months of training with the militia and Harry was sick of it. He almost preferred Mujahid's training; at least that way only one person harassed him. The other children were getting vicious, becoming more bitter for every punishment and humiliation that he escaped. It didn't help that he was the best at ammunitions training, excepting the ones in which he couldn't even lift the weapon of course.

The other kids had recently taken to cornering him in the middle of the day and assaulting him. The first couple of times he was able to hold his own against the one or two bullies that would attack him, but they had begun adding more attackers. Most of the time he was able to escape, being smaller and faster than the largest of the boys, but a couple times he actually got sent to the infirmary. Luckily they had yet to break anything, but he now had a couple of pretty scars. Every time he looked at them he got angrier, both at the other kids and at the trainers.

None of the trainers seemed to be doing anything about the attacks. They themselves didn't lay a hand of him but they seemed to take a malicious pleasure in others hurting him. He tried to talk to his aabbe about it but he was just blown off. Apparently he was supposed to take care of his own problems.

Harry hated the afternoons that they were given off. Despite all of his pleas he wasn't allowed to return to the manor; instead he had to stay outside with the other soldiers and attempt to remain hidden. He originally tried to stay by the trainers or by a large group of people, but he soon realised that it didn't matter. The other kids found and dragged him off anyway, giving the trainers some pathetic excuse that anyone could see through.

He was on his own.

Harry found the looks Effiom had been giving him worrisome and he was scared of what the boy would do. Thus far he had only been knocked around a bit. The kids were careful not to do too much damage, but he wasn't sure that was going to last.

For the last two weeks Harry had taken to hiding in the mahogany trees during their prolonged breaks. He found that the other children simply didn't look up when they were searching for him no matter how many times they had circled the bottom of the tree he was in. He found himself growing more comfortable and confident. They hadn't found him before so it seemed unlikely that it would change. He hoped that maybe they would just give up.

No such luck, one hot and arid afternoon. Harry was craded in the branches of a mahogany tree, staring up at the canopy and watching the leaves perform an intricate dance when he felt something hit him in the middle of his back. He turned around sharply, searching for the perpetrator. He felt his heart sink as he looked down to see a group of boys looking up at him, several of them bouncing rocks of various sizes in their hands.

_"__So this is where you've been hiding, Princess,"_ Effiom drawled, a smug smirk curling his lips.

Harry didn't answer, choosing just to stare blankly at him as he furiously thought of a way out. He was trapped in the tree and certainly couldn't climb down and evade them.

_"__We've been looking for you, sweetheart. You haven't played with us in quite a while and we've been lonely."_

Harry did not like the lilt in Effiom's voice, nor the emphasis that had been placed on the last word.

_"__Why don't you come down, hmm?"_

He shook his head vigorously which only brought a smile to Effiom's face.

_"__Well, we'll just have to do this the hard way then,"_ Effiom said just before he threw the rock he had been playing with.

Harry's eyes widened and he moved to avoid the rock, ducking behind a branch and watching it sail past. The boys circled the tree, trying to get a shot on him. Harry kept ducking and dodging, but still many of the rocks got through, pelting him in the ribs and the stomach. He tried crawling further up the tree but found that the move just exposed him more to their attacks. He curled around the trunk to evade a particularly large rock Effiom had thrown when he got nailed in the back of the knee by another.

His leg buckled underneath him and he lost his grip on the trunk. He clutched at the ridges of the tree, peeling the flesh off the pads of his fingers as he scrabbled for purchase. He tried to use his arms and legs to grip the trunk but his skin gave way and the bark left deep furrows in their wake. As he started to fall he grabbed for a branch near his waist but after dropping a couple feet the branch cracked under his weight only somewhat slowing his fall. He curled into himself, a reflex honed by his training with Mujahid, and landed on his back. He fought to keep himself from howling in pain as one of his ribs cracked upon hitting the ground, sending shocks of blinding pain through his side. He struggled to breathe through the agony but every attempt seared his nerves and knocked the air back out of him.

Once he got the pain under control he opened his eyes and saw the boys standing above him, looking down at him with a smug satisfaction. He glanced at Effiom and saw his eyes flicker with the unrecognizable emotion as he scanned Harry's body. He looked down to see that his shirt had been ripped nearly in half by one of the branches. Blood trickled down his torso from a nasty cut that ran from his nipple to his stomach. Harry looked back up and saw Effiom's eyes follow the trickle of blood until it pooled in his belly button. Despite the shooting pains in his side he started scrambling to get up only to find his arms and legs pinned to the ground.

The other boys sat on his limbs and looked up at Effiom for instructions.

Effiom cocked his head and licked his lips before smiling, _"I think we need to teach the little Princess his place once and for all. He obviously thought he could get away from us and he needs to learn that that's not allowed."_

Effiom knelt down next to him and ripped the rest of his shirt off, baring his chest, before leaning down to lick at one bloodied nipple. Harry could hear the other boys laugh and started thrashing, fear coursing through his body.

_"__Mmm… for a runt you taste good. I wonder how the rest of you tastes,"_ Effiom said as he licked his lips.

He might have only been seven, but he knew what they were about to do. One of their 'lessons' in training had involved several of the older recruits raping and killing some female captives who had been caught on one of their raids. Harry had looked on in pity and disgust while all the trainers and most of the soldiers cheered them on. Effiom had been one of the soldiers chosen and had been particularly enthusiastic and destructive.

Harry couldn't help but hope that one of the trainers would stop them. Despite all of the attacks they had previously allowed surely they wouldn't tolerate this? But as Effiom laved his chest with his tongue he realised that he was truly on his own.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts as Effiom started pulling at the ties that held up his trousers. He threw himself to the side to try to roll out of the other kids' grasps. The grips of the hands on his arms and legs tightened to the point of bruising and he found himself thrown back on his back sending searing pains through his torso as his rib shifted.

Effiom tutted at him before straddling his thighs, _"You're being a bad boy, Princess. Just sit back and relax. You'll enjoy this. I promise."_ He leered at Harry and pulled at the knot, finally getting it untied.

Harry froze and began to hyperventilate. Terror coursed through his veins as Effiom ran his hands down his torso, painting his body with his blood. Everywhere he touched burned and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in fear and pain. He knew better than to scream. Nobody would come and it would just excite the boys. He found that they tended to be particularly vicious if he reacted to their administrations and he held too much pride to give in to them.

Effiom slipped his fingers under his trousers and pants, running them across the hairless skin and began to pull both garments down. _"Aren't you a pretty boy? I bet you squirm deliciously when you're fucked. I bet you moan like a whore when someone rips into that pretty little arse, don't you?"_

The words struck some sort of chord in Harry and anger quickly replaced his fear; he could feel his whole body pulse with it. The chill that had spread through his body from his terror was replaced with heat. Nobody was coming. Nobody cared. Nobody cared that these bastards were going to rape him, violate him and likely put him in the hospital. Nobody cared!

Effiom licked his hip bones and lapped at the blood that had pooled in his belly button before reaching down for his flaccid penis. Harry felt like he was being burned from the inside out. His tissues were on fire. His mind flashed through every injury these boys caused. Every bruise and every beating flitted behind his eyelids and his vision turned red.

Effiom rolled Harry's hairless balls in his hand and began slipping his fingers further back before crying out in pain. He pulled back violently staring at his hands in horror. Each finger was burnt black, blistering and smoldering. He leapt to the side away from the scalding flesh. The other boys shouted before throwing themselves back in fear and pain, their hands also smoking and turning black.

As soon as his limbs were released Harry sat up, his eyes locking with the boy at his feet. Rage roiled in his stomach and his hands lashed out, wrapping themselves around the boy's neck.

Harry compacted all of the fire and anger in his stomach and channeled it down his arms and out of his hands. The boy began gasping in pain, clawing at Harry's hands despite being burned. He tried to scream in vain, unable to draw enough air in through Harry's crushing grip. The flame from Harry's hands spread across the boy's body, lighting his clothing on fire and charring his skin. The boy thrashed around trying to get away from the hands that were burning and suffocating him.

Effiom was terrified. He had been waiting for weeks to get his dick in the gorgeous little Princess. Not only was he attractive, but he was dangerous, a heady combination for the 15 year old boy and, ultimately, a fatal one. Despite the pain in his fingers he couldn't tear his eyes away from the child. Where there had been a deliciously squirming boy moments before, a fireball of fury now stood. Fire licked at the boy's skin, surrounding him harmlessly. But the smell of burnt flesh in the air as well as the pain in his fingers told him that it was dangerous. The leaves that the child sat on had caught fire and were quickly spreading. The boy's hair whipped around in an invisible wind, giving him a feral look. He looked at the boy's eyes and found himself frozen. The green eyes glowed in the flickering flames and he found he couldn't pull himself away from their gaze.

Harry held on as tightly as he could before the other child finally fell limp. He dropped the flaming body and turned to the other boys who had been watching the macabre display in horror. They broke out of their stupor when the fiery green eyes locked on them and they scrambled to their feet, attempting to flee.

Harry leapt forward and grabbed one of the boys by the ankle before he could get to his feet. Harry pushed the boy down, placing his palm on his chest as he sent another pulse of heat through his hand. The boy started screaming as his body burst into flame. Harry watched with a detached calm as the boy jumped to his feet. He found himself vaguely amused by the way the child ran around, flailing his limbs in an effort to snuff out the flames. The boy stumbled around blindly, bumping into bushes and mahogany trees in his way. Each plant the boy touched was torched, lighting up the forest as the flames licked their way through all the plants.

Finally the boy fell, his body giving out from shock. The leaves and grass beneath him were aflame, forming a full pyre on which the body was immolated. Harry stood calmly, letting the flames and anger spiral through his body as he prepared to hunt his prey. He stalked out of the forest not noticing his lack of dress, the flames having burnt off his trousers and pants, and followed his instincts to find the next boy hiding in one of the bunkers.

He grabbed the boy by the neck and lifted him up off the ground to his feet. He held him for a second as his eyes locked with the child's before growling in his ear, _"You should never have touched me."_ The boy screamed out in pain when the skin on his neck began blistering and peeling under Harry's fingers. Harry dropped him onto the ground on top of a pile of sheets and clothing before tying him to a hook in the wall with a blanket. The cloth did not catch on fire despite being in the center of an inferno. The boy clawed at it, trying to get it untied but it would not budge. He screamed as the entire building lit on fire.

Harry walked out of the flaming bunker and searched out his last attacker, Effiom. He found the last boy hiding behind the trainers and he stalked over to the group, his eyes locked with Effiom's. He was unaware of neither the guns aimed at him nor the order to drop them. He only had eyes for the boy.

He ignored the trainers that scrabbled away from him and made his way around the one who stood his ground. He yanked Effiom to his feet by his shirt and pulled him away from the trainer. He pulled him out into the center of the courtyard and dropped him on the ground, smirking maliciously at the writhing boy. The boy's clothes had caught fire when they came in contact with Harry's hands and he was frantically rolling around on the ground trying to put the flames out.

_"__Oh no you don't,"_ Harry growled before grabbing him by the hair and lifting him into a kneeling position. The boy's hair burst into flames and chunks of it pulled out as the boy thrashed under his grip. He kneeled behind Effiom, his hot breath burning his ear.

Despite speaking softly Harry's voice rang out in the silent courtyard, _"You should never have touched me. I have let you get away with too much. You beat me with no punishments before this, but now you have gone too far."_

While the other boys died from shock, Effiom was not given such a reprieve. He slumped against Harry, his muscles unable to hold him up anymore after being eaten away by the flames. The fire burned his body from the toes up. His legs and torso turned to ash long before his neurons finally died from lack of blood, releasing him from his torture.

Harry watched as the disembodied head turned to ash before lifting his eyes to look around for the first time. The courtyard was filled with soldiers, trainers and guards all staring at him with different levels of fear and awe. A single voice rang out behind him and he turned to see his aabbe.

_"__Harry! Harry, listen to me. You have to calm down. Breathe Harry,"_ he implored, staying several feet away from the flaming boy.

Harry cocked his head to look at him. His aabbe looked frantic, very different from the unflappable man he had come to know. He couldn't understand what upset his aabbe so much and just continued to look at him, absentmindedly noting the way the flames continued to course through his veins.

_"__Harry,"_ his aabbe pleaded. _"Listen to me. Take a deep breath. You have to calm down."_

Harry looked at his aabba appraisingly before closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. He struggled with the fire still burning in righteous anger, hungering for people to hurt, to burn. He pulled at the flames starting from his fingers and toes, pulling it inward until he rolled it into a ball in his middle. He caged it but could still feel it in a way he never had before. The heat radiated from his stomach, controlled but not forgotten.

Once the flames had been contained, Harry suddenly found himself to be cold despite the sun bearing down on him. He began shivering from the loss of heat and felt a blanket being wrapped around him. He looked up and saw his aabbe's concerned face before his vision blurred and the world went black.

* * *

Mujahid had been talking with some of Harry's trainers about his progress when he heard someone in the trees start to scream. He wasn't sure what to do. He knew that Harry had taken to staying in the trees during their breaks, but they had been instructed to let Harry deal with the other soldiers. He knew that the boy had several guards to protect him if needed, but it sounded like someone was in their death throes.

Just as he signaled to the rest of the guards to make their way over to the sound, a fireball walked out of the forest. He couldn't help but stare; fire didn't walk. As the flames came closer he saw the piercing emerald eyes that belonged to only one person.

He sucked in a breath, **"Harry…"**

He and the rest of the guards were frozen by the sight, unsure of what to do. He watched Harry enter one of the bunkers before another scream sounded. Mujahid was shaken out of his stupor when a boy ran up and hid behind them; he was shaking so badly he was surprised that the boy remained standing.

His attention was drawn back in the direction of the bunker as Harry walked out and noticed that several guns were cocked and trained on him.

**"****Stand down! That's the Warlord's son, stand the fuck DOWN!" **he screamed at the top of his lungs, vaguely hearing one of the other guards repeating his order in Somali.

He watched as Harry made his way over to their group and attempted to stand his ground when most of the other guards and trainers scrambled to get away from the flames licking at the boy. He stared as Harry plucked the boy that had hidden behind him before dragging him out into the middle of the courtyard.

When the boy burst into flames he had to yell at the guards again to lower their weapons. He heard a few people begin retching when the smell of burnt flesh wafted over to them. Several of the men fell on their knees, chanting to their gods in several different languages. He could hardly blame them; if he were a religious man he would be doing the same thing.

**_"_****What the hell is going on?!"** he heard someone shout over his shoulder. He pulled his eyes away from the flaming body in the center of the courtyard only to come face to face with a very angry Warlord.

He gulped before answering, **"I don't know, Warlord."**

**"****What the hell do you mean, you don't know? My son is out there, on FIRE, and you don't know what the FUCK is going on?!"** Idris screamed at him.

Mujahid took a deep breath, **"No, Warlord. I don't know. But he doesn't appear to be hurt,"** he said weakly and gestured to the boy who, despite being on fire, seemed perfectly healthy.

He heard several of the guards around him suck in their breath as Harry spoke in a low, menacing voice. He asked one of the other guards to translate but couldn't get anybody to respond to him. When he felt the anger radiating of his Lord, he decided that he didn't want to know.

Mujahid was very grateful when the Warlord stepped away from him and towards the human fireball. He watched him calm his heir down and wrap him with a blanket one of the guards had brought him before the boy went limp.

The Warlord scooped the boy into his arms and walked past Mujahid. **"I expect you to clean up this mess, including the fire over there in the trees, and find out what the hell happened. You are to meet me in my study for a full report within the hour. Understood?"** he growled.

Mujahid bowed his head in complete submission, not wanting to provoke his fury, **"Understood, Warlord."**

* * *

Mujahid was scared. No, scratch that. He was _terrified_. He had spent the last hour scrambling to get the full story as quickly as he could before meeting with the Warlord and he didn't like what he found out. He spoke to the guards who were supposed to watch Harry to make sure nothing too damaging happened and heard what precipitated the boy's retaliation. He didn't know how he was going to explain it to his Lord.

He stood patiently in front of the Warlord's desk. He had not shown yet, no doubt making sure that his son was okay, and he was grateful for the absence. He wanted to put off this meeting for as long as possible. He was trying to figure out how to put it so that the Warlord didn't... what did the westerners call it? Shoot the messenger?

He flinched when the door slammed open, the Warlord striding over to his desk before sitting down.

The Warlord narrowed his eyes and spoke in an icy voice, **"My son is now in his room, unconscious with skinned arms and legs, various gashes and bruises, a broken rib and a goddamn concussion. Luckily for you and your guards, the flames did not injure him this time. Now tell me, what in the hell **_**happened?!"**_ His voice rose in pitch until he reached finished yelling.

Mujahid took a deep breath, **"I have spoken with the guards who were watching the Little Master. He had been in a tree avoiding the other children when a group of children found him. They knocked him out of the tree he was in before pinning him to the ground."** He took another deep breath, bracing himself for the Warlord's reaction, **"The leader apparently wanted to do more than beat him up. He started to take off the heir's clothes in preparation for raping him."**

The Warlord slammed down his hands and leapt to his feet, **"He WHAT? And the guards allowed this?"**

Mujahid began shivering in fear from the fury clouding his Warlord's face. He nodded, keeping his eyes lowered. He knew better than to say something about him instructing them to leave Harry to his own devices, but the guards _had _been told to keep anything seriously damaging from happening. He just hoped he wasn't going to be punished for their stupidity.

The Warlord fell back into his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. Silence stretched out between them and Mujahid held his breath waiting for his punishment.

**"****Those guards are to be executed. They should not have allowed this to happen."** The Warlord's voice was quiet but held a deadly edge to it and Mujahid found himself nodding carefully. **"I hold you responsible for this. You were the one to give the instructions to the guards and obviously something was missed."**

Mujahid stiffened at these words, his fears taking shape.

**"**_**However,**_**" **he continued,** "Up until this point you have done your job very well. You will not be executed with the other guards. Consider yourself on probation. One more fuck up and I'll kill you myself."**

Mujahid let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. **"Thank you, Warlord. You are very kind,"** he said before bowing deeply and fleeing the room.

He walked away from the office thanking the gods despite not believing in them. He looked forward to executing the wastes of flesh that allowed this to happen. They had almost got him killed and he was looking forward to making them pay.

* * *

**A/N: ** The only thing that's true in this chapter is the children being taught to rape.

Mahogany trees can be found in southern Somalia and the wood is excellent for making a fire. It burns hot and for a long time.


	9. Runaways

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

_"__Somali"_  
**"****Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**November 1987**

Idris sat at his desk deep in thought when Mujahid entered the room. He gestured for him to take a seat before addressing him.

**"****It's been fifteen weeks since Harry began training with the militia. How is he fairing?"** Idris asked in a short, business tone.

Mujahid shifted in his seat, **"He is doing well, Warlord. He is excelling in both ammunitions and hand-to-hand combat. He seems to be particularly good in marksmanship, surpassing both the children and the trainers."** He stopped, unsure whether or not to continue.

Idris saw his hesitation and narrowed his eyes, **"Yes?"**

Mujahid steeled himself. He was afraid to bring up this specific subject to the Warlord since it was such a sensitive topic. ** "I think the attack a month ago has changed something in him. He pushes himself harder and farther than any of the other recruits, regardless of the task requested. He seems driven to excel in a way I have not seen from a child before..."** he trailed off, unsure of what else to add.

Idris sat back, rubbing his chin in thought. **"I have talked to him about the attack. He took it far more personally than I would have expected and seems to be intent on protecting himself without assistance. He has spoken before about others not coming to his aid. As unfortunate as it was, it seems almost like it was beneficial that the guards ignored it."** He paused for a moment before continuing,** "He has been particularly vitriolic when speaking about the other recruits. Whenever he talks about them, it is only with hatred."**

Mujahid nodded,** "He has become alienated from them. He avoids them as often as they do him."**

**"****They avoid him more than they had before?"** Idris asked.

Mujahid nodded, **"They are terrified of him. Before, the majority of them were simply afraid of what could happen due to his position as your heir, but since the attackers were immolated..."** he trailed off. **"Amusingly enough, they have actually taken to calling him Nuri, an Arabic name that means 'fire'."**

Idris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and a small smile curving his lips, **"Good."**

Mujahid looked at him, confused, **"Warlord?"**

Idris waved his hand at him, **"By giving him a native name they have shown that they accept him as belonging here, regardless of where he came from."** He tapped his chin with his finger absentmindedly,** "Have the trainers and guards begin calling him by that. It is about time that he shed such a plebeian British name. It does not suit my heir to have a boring name of foreign origin. Besides, it is quite apt, is it not?"**

Mujahid nodded, **"It is, Warlord."**

**"****Good,"** Idris replied. **"Now what of his treatment of the others? I know what he says in the confines of the manor, but how does he act outside of these walls?"**

Mujahid took a deep breath before answering, **"He is becoming colder. He has become more vicious in our hand-to-hand training and has sent several other recruits to the infirmary. He actually smiled when the last one was taken to the infirmary with a broken arm and wrist."**

Idris smirked, **"Good. Keep working on that. I want him to be able to kill without vomiting like last time,"** he said, his tone belying his disgust.

**"****It shall be done."** Mujahid nodded and carefully considered his next words. **"There has been some... unrest amongst the guards and trainers recently..."** he began tentatively

Idris raised an eyebrow,** "What about?"**

**"****Some of them seem to be wary of Nuri. They whisper among themselves about the unnaturalness of the fire he produced.**" He hesitated before continuing, **"Some believe that he is an agent of Iblis, come to destroy you and all those loyal to you. A few of them are angry and I fear they may soon act on it,"** Mujahid said.

Idris' eyes narrowed, **"What guards are these?"**

Mujahid shuddered, **"I do not know, Warlord. I have just heard about this through some of my men."**

**"****Indeed. You need to find out who is spreading such tales. When they are found they are to be executed immediately. I will not put up with neither insubordination nor any threat to my son,"** he growled. He paused for a moment before adding, **"Make sure to notify the guards about the threat and tell them that they are to keep a more diligent eye on him."**

**"****Yes, Warlord,"** Mujahid bowed his head in submission.

**"****Good. Dismissed,"** Idris said shortly.

Mujahid stood and bowed before leaving.

'I will have to up the search for an explanation. He needs to learn to control whatever is causing the fire,' Idris thought. He rubbed his face with his hands before returning to the papers strewn across his desk.

* * *

**December 1987**

It was yet another sunny and extremely hot day. They were just coming into summer and already the heat was barely tolerable. Harry stood in the courtyard in formation with the other recruits, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down into his eyes while he waited for the trainers to arrive.

He could feel the sweat starting to trickle down his back when they finally showed, dragging several figures behind them. He watched as several bruised and bloodied recruits were tossed at the trainers' feet.

_"__You get a special treat today,"_ one of the trainers sneered. _"These maggots were found last night trying to escape."_

Harry couldn't stop the snarl that made its way to his lips. It was an honor to be selected to fight for his aabbe. Didn't they know that they were protecting their families? Did they think so little of their own kin that they would purposely evade their duty? Harry sneered in disgust.

The group started getting restless, anger and fear wafting off of the formation forming a heady mixture. They couldn't believe that someone would want to escape their duty, to runaway from a higher calling. The runaways laid prone at the head of the courtyard, blood and sweat dripping off of them. Harry couldn't help but admire the artwork they were unintentionally creating in the dirt.

_"__Each of you is going to get one caning off on each of these... children."_ The runaways visibly stiffened, whether from the anticipating of a beating or the epithet the trainer used. There wasn't much worse to a group of child soldiers than to be reminded of their age.

_"__Now line up! Make it quick or you'll be joining this filth!"_

The recruits scrambled to form a line, some more eager than others. You could tell who was close to the runaways by the speed in which they complied. They knew better than to refuse, but they really didn't want to hurt their friends.

'Weakness,' Harry sneered to himself. 'That's all friends bring, weakness.' He made sure he was positioned somewhere in the middle of the line, far enough back that their bodies will be beaten enough to respond well to the pain but not too far back that the runaways might be too far gone to feel it. The other soldiers quickly moved away from him, giving him as much space as they could. They didn't want to be near him if they could prevent it.

The trainers handed the cane to the first in line, a rather large boy known for his particularly blood thirsty nature. Harry watched as he swung the cane down hard enough to knock one of the runaways face down into the dirt. Soon even the most stoic of the runaways were crying out in pain, filling the courtyard with the sounds of their screams. Harry couldn't help but smile when he heard one of their bones snap, the owner shrieking out in pain. He vowed to hit hard enough to break at least two bones.

He could feel the anger roiling around in his stomach. These disgusting creatures had so little respect and love for their own families that they would leave them to fend for themselves against rebels. They would leave their mothers and sisters to be raped and their fathers and brothers to be murdered because they were unwilling to protect them.

Harry was so deeply in a trance that he almost missed the trainers' yelling. They decided that one of the recruits had obviously been holding back, trying to spare the vermin from the pain of their punishment. The child was thrown down onto the ground and joined the runaways in their punishment. Nobody dared hold back after that.

Harry stepped up and took grip of the cane, relishing the feel of the wood beneath his fingers. These pathetic _children_ had no respect for their kin, no love for their family. He growled, anger suffusing itself through his limbs. They were lucky to have family to protect! He didn't have one until his aabbe had rescued him. He would do anything for his aabbe and couldn't fathom why such scum would throw their family away.

He smirked at the fear in the runaway's eyes as he pulled his arm back to swing. He regretted the fact that the trainers had forbidden them from hitting their heads and instead aimed for the side of their torsos where the floating ribs protected the kidney. He couldn't help but smile when his first swing elicited the telltale snap of a bone. The floating ribs were particularly weak compared to other bones in the body and that particular runaway was small compared to the others.

By the end of his turn, Harry regretted the fact that he had only managed to break one bone and vowed to build up his muscles so he was stronger. He returned to the formation, making sure to position himself in the front so he could watch the rest of the line. He sneered whenever one of the recruits passed out from the pain and had to suppress a pout when the last recruit handed the bloodied cane back to the trainers and returned to formation.

One of the trainers stepped forward, kicking one of the prone figures as he did. He sneered at the cry of pain and turned to address the rest of the soldiers, _"Do you think they have learned their lesson?"_

Shouts filled the courtyard as many of soldiers yelled out their affirmation or denial. Harry yelled on the top of his lungs, trying to be heard over the rest of the recruits. He wanted the runaways to hurt, to be punished for their cowardice and disobedience.

The conscious runaways shivered on the ground as the trainers let the noise rise to a deafening level. Their fate rested in the hands of children that had been taught to kill ruthlessly.

After a few minutes the trainer raised his hand and smirked, _"So be it. Girma, Morowa, Jibril, Shihab and Nuri. Come up here."_

All of the recruits named rushed up to the front, all eager to take part in whatever the trainers had planned.

_"__You five have the honor of killing this filth,"_ the trainer barked. Harry saw that one of the other recruits paled out but looked resolved.

Harry looked down at the runaways. Every one of them was crying, the littlest babbling on about his mother and father. A few of them were groveling, begging for mercy. Harry couldn't help but be disgusted by them. They should have thought about their actions beforehand. They were revolting, caked with dirt and blood and blubbering like fools.

_"__You will choose your method of execution,"_ the trainer said, breaking into Harry's thoughts. The other trainers grabbed onto the runaways and bodily lifted them off the ground before throwing them at the feet of one of the recruits. Harry was given the littlest one, the one who's rib he broke. He couldn't help but sneer. He knew he was smaller than any of the other recruits and he knew it made sense for him to be given the smallest of the scum, but he couldn't help but be upset by it. He renewed his vow to build up his strength.

The trainers offered a variety of weapons for them. Two of the recruits chose guns, one chose the bloodied cane and both he and the last one chose knives.

He felt his hatred build, pumping through his veins, consuming him. Such filth didn't deserve to live, didn't deserve mercy. They ran from their duties, from his aabbe. They dishounour themselves and worse, put their families into danger with their actions. How he hated them. They had treated him so badly, taunting him at every turn, and then they turn around and act like such cowards. He would never dare to even think of running away! It was an honour to serve his aabbe, to protect the man that had saved him and loved him. And they dare run away! They didn't deserve to serve his aabbe!

He didn't hear the other runaways crying out in pain and barely registered the sounds of gunshots. He looked down at the bawling child, revolted by the sight. The boy was only a year or so older than him. He should be stronger than this! Even he wasn't as pathetic as this child groveling at his feet. He knelt down and slashed the knife across the boys chest, reveling in the cry it produced as well as the blood staining his shirt.

So pathetic! This coward didn't deserve to live. He had picked on him with the rest of the recruits and he had the audacity to be so gutless! Fury surged through his veins as he brought down the knife again, making an X across the runaway's chest. The words coward, pathetic, dishonour and family kept whipping around in his head. The knife in his had shot out again and again, painting the boy in blood as he screamed and cried, thrashing against the arms holding him down.

After what felt like ages to everyone watching Harry knelt behind the boy wrapping one arm around to hold his head still and the other to hold the knife to his throat. The child was limp against him from blood loss.

He pressed his lips up against the boy's ear and whispered, _"You should never have run."_ He yanked the boy's chin up and pressed the knife to his flesh, dragging it across the arteries in his neck. The blood spurted from the slit, splattering on the ground in front of him.

A maniacal grin spread across Harry's face as he stood up, letting the body fall face first into the dirt. He looked up and saw the entire group in the courtyard staring at him in a mix of fear and awe. Silence reigned for a few moments before one of the trainers finally stepped forward with a smile on his face. He leaned down and dipped his hand in the blood pooled at his feet before stepping up to Harry. The trainer's clean hand cupped his chin, lifting his face while the other spread the blood in a streak across his forehead. He stepped away from him before bowing his head to him, the rest of the trainers and guards following suit.

A cold smile crept across Harry's face. He had finally earned their respect.

* * *

_"__You were exceptionally hard to find, Ohin. I am glad you could meet with me,"_ Idris said as he offered his hand to the aged man.

Ohin bowed his head and took the proffered hand, giving it a firm shake before sitting down in front of Idris' desk. He was old, his head and face covered with long white, wiry hairs. His skin was dark, leathery from a lifetime's exposure to the sun and quite stark against his snow white hair. He wore a simple beige tunic and matching pants making the man appear unremarkable. It was the sort of man that you would walk past on the street without noticing, at least until he looked you in the eye.

His eyes were piercing, and sparkled with wisdom. His eyes were the palest blue, very unusual for the area which was dominated by browns and hazel. They seemed to bore right through you, able to see past any deceit or façade worn.

Idris found himself unnerved in a way he had not felt in a long time. He felt like he was being stripped bare for the old man's perusal. He did not like the feeling. He didn't realize he had been staring until the man smiled and responded to him.

_"__You would not have found us if we had not intended it, but it is a pleasure to meet with you, Warlord,"_ Ohin said, his rich tones filling the room.

Idris blinked at the ancient man's bluntness, _"Well, surely you know why I requested to meet with you?"_

Ohin regarded him for a minute before smiling and saying, _"Yes, but let us assume that I do not. Why did you want to meet with me?"_

Idris stared at the strange man but answered, _"It is regarding my son, Nuri."_

_"__Ah yes, Nuri. I have heard about him. An orphan from Britain of all places, and one that seems to control fire of all things,"_ Ohin said, leaning back in his chair.

_"__What??"_ Idris stuttered. _"I have made sure that word of it never left this compound. How did you hear of it?"_ he demanded loudly.

_"__Oh hush!"_ the old man scolded. _"There is no reason to get yourself worked up. None of your men have betrayed you."_

Idris gaped at him. He hadn't been scolded since he was a child and couldn't help but be embarrassed. _"I apologize,"_ he said before he realized it. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. When had he lost control of the conversation?

Ohin smiled in a congenial manner, folding his hands in his lap, _"No need to apologize, child. We have our ways of knowing when such unusual events occur. It is a necessity for people like us who need to hide who we are and what we can do."_

Idris decided to ignore his use of the word 'child'. Anyone as old as this man had the right to call everyone else 'child'. _"Well, then you ought to know the scale at which these... events occurred,"_ he stated.

_"__Indeed,"_ Ohin inclined his head. _"It is rather remarkable, isn't it? When the first one happened we traced it down as we always do, but when we realized it was in your compound, we decided it would behoove us not to expose ourselves to someone of your... shall we say stature?"_ he said smoothly. _"But when the second one occurred we decided it might be better to approach you after all. It was merely helpful that you were looking for us."_

Idris didn't know how to feel about this man. Nobody had dared speak to him in such a way for many years, but the man was undeniably powerful. His presence filled the room and was almost suffocating. Idris had also been taught to respect his elders, and this man certainly could be deemed his elder. Besides, he needed him.

_"__Well, I appreciate you contacting me all the same,"_ Idris said as respectfully as he could. _"Nuri needs to learn control. While the events have been useful thus far I fear that it might occur at an inopportune time."_

The ancient man's eyes seemed to pierce him, almost like he was determining the veracity of his statements. After several long moments the man smiled and spoke.

_"__Very well. You do seem to have his best interests at heart, despite realising how many ways this ability can be used once trained,"_ Ohin said, his tone genial but with an edge of danger. _"He will be trained, don't worry about that. We never abandon our own. But what was the other reason you called me?" _he said, an eyebrow raised.

Idris stared at the man, nonplussed. He did have ulterior motives, but how did he know that?

_"__Well,"_ Idris began, _"You said earlier that you need to hide yourselves, correct?"_

Ohin nodded his head, _"Indeed we do. There is a lot of fear engendered by Islam which has crept its way into our culture. When we're found, we're executed. Because of this we live in scattered groups, if any at all,"_ he said sadly.

_"__Would people be receptive to one being created?"_ Idris asked. _"If I created a school, a community for them, would they come?"_

The old man scratched his chin in thought, _"It is possible, if their safety is guaranteed."_ He looked at Idris shrewdly, _"And what would you want in exchange for giving us a save haven?"_

Idris leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the desk, _"I will provide homes, resources and safety in exchange for service in my militia. Unlike others who see it as evil, I see these abilities as yet another means to an end. If I were to have magic users in my militia, well, it would be a huge advantage, particularly because there is trouble brewing."_

_"__Oh?"_ Ohin asked. _"I have never had much interest in politics myself, so I'm not up on current events. You use children in your armies. Would you require that ours will as well?"_

Idris nodded and Ohin sighed, _"I will not mince words. I do not like that children are used in battle. Children should be loved and nourished, not taught to kill. But,"_ he interjected, interrupting whatever Idris was going to say, _"We need the community. We need a place that we can teach and live in safety without fearing persecution. While I don't like them, I will agree to your terms with two conditions."_

Idris raised an eyebrow, _"I suppose if they are within reason..."_

_"__I think you will find it more than reasonable. First is that there will be no drugs. I know what you give the soldiers to prepare them for battle and I can tell you now that to do so with a child who has magic would be a recipe for disaster,"_ Ohin said bluntly.

Idris looked at him curiously, _"Why is that?"_

_"__Well,"_ Ohin began. _"Can you imagine putting someone who can blow you up with a mere thought on a mind altering substance? We have found out the hard way that drugs react badly with magic, causing it to go haywire and causing unexpected, and usually bad, results."_

Idris' eyes widened. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he had his pyromaniac son on something. He already had enough problems with control. _"I think that is definitely reasonable. What is your other condition?"_

_"__I do not want a child younger than ten to be put in the militia,"_ Ohin stated curtly.

_"__Hmm..."_ Idris scratched his chin. _"I normally don't do that although there are exceptions, but may I ask why?"_

_"__I wish them to be fully trained before being put through the rigors of your militia. They need to have complete control of their magic, something which is usually achieved by their tenth year."_

Idris nodded,_ "I think I can accommodate that."_

Ohin smiled, the wrinkles on his face deepening, _"Good. Glad we were able to come to an accord. I will inform the sects I know of about the agreement and they will decide amongst themselves whether or not to come. There are a few that may not, but I have a feeling most will. When shall we be expected?"_

Idris tapped his lips with his finger in thought,_ "Give me three months to build most of the buildings. I'll have everyone working on it so most of the buildings should be built after that time. Let them know they can start arriving in March."_

Ohin nodded his head and stood, _"I shall. I will be arriving in March as well to begin Nuri's training, if that is okay with you?"_

Idris stood as well, shaking the ancient man's hand, _"It will be fine. We will talk more about his training at a later date. It was a pleasure to meet you."_

_"__You as well, Warlord. I look forward to speaking to you further about your son. Good day,"_ the old man said as he turned and left the room.

Idris fell into his chair and rubbed a hand across his face. It had been a long time since he had lost control of a conversation the way he had and it had been even longer since anyone spoke to him in that manner. He almost felt like a child being scolded at his father's knee.

'I hope you appreciate what I'm doing for you son,' he thought wearily. 'I wouldn't put up with that for anyone else.'

He sighed and stood, leaving to speak with the trainers about starting the building.

* * *

**Nuri:** Arabic name; male; fire.  
**Iblis:** An incarnation of the devil in Islam.  
**Girma:** African name; male; majesty.  
**Morowa:** African name; female; queen.  
**Jibril:** Arabic name; male; a form of archangel of Allah.  
**Shihab:** Arabic name; male; blaze.  
**Ohin:** African name; male; chief.

**A/N:** This particular punishment of caning the runaways has been done, although I can't remember where I read it anymore. In that case the soldiers were just sent to the infirmary, not executed.


	10. Raiding Bu'eeolei

**Summary:** At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am not but a poor student that worships JK Rowling.

Parts of this chapter were inspired by the book _A Long Way Gone_ by Ismael Beah.

**A/N:** Cookies and many thanks to Narcoleptic86 for telling me about the different versions of AK-47s used.

**WARNING:** This is a bloody chapter involving ruthless, graphic killing and _rape_. This chapter is meant to show the brutality that these groups inflict. If you have a weak stomach I _strongly_ suggest you skip the third section of this chapter.

_"__Somali"_  
**"****Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**January 1988**

It had been several long weeks of digging, chopping wood and building. The recruits had been instructed to erect a series of buildings on the far side of the compound. They did not know why but at this point they had learned that questions could be dangerous to their health. To make the task even more difficult the trainers had them carrying all their ammunition while they worked. Their guns were slung across their backs and rounds of bullets hung off of them like sashes. The strings kept falling off of Harry's thin shoulders and he was constantly fighting to keep them on.

The days were getting hotter as they made their way into the summer months. It was January and only the beginning of the hottest season. Harry no longer burnt under the long hours underneath the sun; his skin had developed a deep brown color courtesy of his olive tone, something he was grateful for since he no longer stuck out in the crowd. He still looked nothing like his deep chocolate aabbe, but he did somewhat resemble those of Arabic decent.

Despite physically fitting in better, the other recruits and soldiers avoided him. He found himself alone for most of the tasks assigned. Whether he was chopping wood or raising walls he was alone, which suited him just fine. He didn't particularly want to be around all of the other sniveling children.

One particular afternoon found Harry digging holes for a new building when his ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. Nobody had dared bother him since the last attack in the woods but he couldn't help but be particularly wary.

_"__Little Master, the Warlord requests your presence at the sand pit."_

Harry turned slowly and took in the group of three soldiers. He raised an eyebrow at the unusual request but followed them all the same. It wouldn't do to keep his aabbe waiting.

The soldiers flanked him as they made their way across the compound. Harry couldn't help but wonder at the dearth of people. Usually the infirmary had at least one or two people bustling around it and the courtyard always had a group of soldiers, whether they were training or talking amongst themselves.

As they rounded the trees and made their way to the far side of the sand pit Harry became suspicious. He stopped and turned to the first soldier to ask him where they were going only to be met with the butt of a gun. Pain lanced through his head as the gun made contact with his temple and knocked him to the ground. He looked up and was momentarily shocked by the vicious glares aimed his way.

_"__You are not welcome here, Iblis," _the first man sneered. _"You will not poison the mind of our Warlord with your magic anymore!"_

Harry gasped in pain when a foot landed in his side. He rolled out of the way of another kick and scrambled to his feet, eyes darting around frantically looking for a way out. He was much smaller than all of these men and there were three of him. He didn't stand a chance without some sort of cover.

_"__Leave, Iblis! Go back to the depths of Hell from whence you came,"_ one of the soldiers growled as he stepped forward, his fist cocked back for a swing.

Harry dove away from the punch, rolling on the ground towards the crop of trees ten feet away. He barely registered the click of the guns being loaded, too intent on reaching one of the trunks to take cover, but he did feel the bullet that took a chunk out of his thigh. He gasped out in pain and stumbled, clawing at the ground. Another bullet grazed his side before he was able to dive behind the thick trunk of a mahogany tree.

The sound of bullets echoed in the clearing and Harry's mind went into overdrive. He ripped the gun from his back and laid flat on the ground, using it to brace himself against the kickback. He peered around the trunk at the soldiers who were firing haphazardly into the trees and aimed carefully at the one closest to him. He knew he couldn't afford to miss; they would knew where he was the minute he started firing.

He did his best to calm his frantically beating heart before pulling the trigger. The first man's torso was riddled with several bullets before he shifted to shoot at the next one. He only got a couple shots off on the second man before the soldier was felled from behind. Harry's eyes widened and he prayed that whomever had joined the fight was on his side. He wasn't sure he could stand up against more of them.

The last man's legs buckled out from under him before Harry could see the faces of the other attackers. At the front of the group was Mujahid and he couldn't help but sigh in relief. Doing his best to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, he braced himself against the tree to pull himself up to his feet. He could feel the blood running down his leg and soaking his trainers. He held his gun in his hands, finger on the trigger and ready to fire in case of a new threat as he limped his way back towards the sandpit.

Harry could see Mujahid's eyes widen when he came into sight and he carefully kept his face neutral as he limped over to the man, doing his best to ignore the burning stabs of pain emanating from his thigh and torso. Mujahid quickly made his way over to Harry's side and bent down to look at his leg. He ripped off part of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound tightly to staunch the bleeding. He stood and firmly wrapped another piece of his shirt around the Harry's torso before turning to the group.

**"****What in the FUCK is going on here?!" **Mujahid barked, eyes darting between the injured and dead soldiers on the ground and the heir standing before him, ignoring the soldier translating his question.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath to prepare himself to respond but was interrupted by one of the attackers.

_"__We were saving the Warlord from the clutches of this..."_ the man was cut off by a swift kick to his ribs, knocking him from his sitting position and back onto the ground.

**"****I don't care what you have to say,"** Mujahid barked, unheeding of the language barrier. He turned back to Harry before demanding, **"What happened here!"**

**"****That is what I would like to know,"** a smooth, deep voice interrupted. The men turned to see a very angry Warlord.

Harry couldn't help the relief that flooded his body at the appearance of his aabbe. He finally allowed the gun to slip from his fingers, landing on the ground at his feet. Idris turned at the sound and quickly walked up to Harry, concern etched across his face.

Idris cupped his chin and lifted his face to look him in the eyes. "Are you all right, my son?" he asked, slipping into English for privacy. None of the soldiers were educated enough to have learned the language of business.

Harry panted, unable to draw a deep breath without pain searing through his torso. "I think so, Father. I got hit twice, once in the leg and once in the side. They only nicked though."

"Good," Idris said, his relief obvious in his voice. "We will get you to the infirmary soon, once we figure out what happened."

Harry nodded. "They kept calling me _Iblis_, whatever that is..." he trailed off, unable to suppress a flinch from the thundercloud that made its way across his aabbe's face. He struggled to keep his breathing even as the adrenaline wore out. The pain was intense, but he didn't want to show his weakness in front of the guards.

Idris' face softened at his son's reaction. "I am not angry with you, child. You did well today. Remember that." He brushed Harry's cheek with his knuckles in a rare show of affection.

Harry nodded, "Yes, father."

Idris spared Harry a small smile before turning back to the group and growled, _"What happened here?"_

The silence was deafening. No one wanted to cross the angry Warlord. Harry watched his aabbe survey the group, several of the soldiers shrinking back trying to make themselves inconspicuous. Finally Idris stopped and looked down at the three soldiers on the ground. The first one Harry shot was dead, having succumbed to shock several minutes prior. The second one was well on his way to death while the third appeared to only sustain minor injuries.

After sneering at the dead and half-dead men Idris turned to the relatively uninjured one. _"Speak,"_ he ordered, his voice carrying a razor sharp edge.

The man prostrated himself at his Warlord's feet, _"Have mercy, my Lord. We were trying to free you from the Iblis' clutches. He has poisoned you with his magic, worming his way into your favour..."_

_"__Enough!"_ Idris barked. _"Do you think so little of me that I would not be able to discern truth from fiction?"_ His voice was sharp, eliciting a whimper from the man at his feet.

The man flinched and cried, _"No, my Lord."_

Idris sneered, _"Stop your sniveling. Are there any others who share your misguided view? Answer me and I may save your miserable life."_

The soldier shivered and began babbling, listing fifteen names before continuing to beg for his life. A couple of the men in the group began shifting uncomfortably, having been named by the pathetic man sprawled on the ground.

Idris turned to Mujahid, **"Take all the men this scum listed to the courtyard. Gather all those in the compound to witness their execution. Everyone will know that such behavior will not be tolerated."**

Mujahid bowed, **"It shall be done, Warlord."**

Idris nodded and turned to the sniveling man at his feet. He sneered and pulled out a handgun.

The man's eyes widened, _"B-but you said..."_

_"__I know what I said,"_ Idris snarled. _"But you attacked my son and heir. Did you really think that you'd get away with that?" _He aimed at the man's head and pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the clearing. He turned to the other man and put his gun away after seeing that he had already died.

Harry watched the scene, taking a morbid sort of satisfaction from their punishment. His aabbe turned to him and swept him up into his arms, carrying him to the infirmary. He allowed himself to tuck his head into his aabbe's neck, needing the comfort it provided. He couldn't keep the small smile that curled at his lips. The treacherous scum would get what they deserved. His aabbe had seen to that.

* * *

**February 1988**

Idris sat at his desk and massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers in attempt to stave off yet another headache. He had come to love his son dearly in the last year and a half but he couldn't believe the amount of trouble he seemed to draw to himself! It was like he was a veritable magnet for danger. He was very glad he had decided to put him through the militia training. At least he'd be able to protect himself from the problems he seemed to attract.

Idris couldn't help but be frustrated with himself. He should have foreseen the reaction of some of his guards. He should have known that some of the people in the compound would react badly to any show of magic but at least something good came out of it. He had spent the last several weeks weeding out guards, maids, doctors, anyone in the compound who had a distinctly negative reaction to magic after the attack on his son. He couldn't afford to have such people around if he was to successfully create a safe magical community; he couldn't have the magicians come to him for safety only to be killed off by his own people. Just under a quarter of his staff now resided in the trenches. He couldn't allow them to stay but neither could he allow them to leave; he couldn't risk any of them telling someone outside the compound anything his son could do.

A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts and he sat up straighter before telling the person to enter. Mujahid swept into the room with all of his usual grace, stalking up to the desk and bowing to him before settling into a chair.

**"****So,"** Idris began, leaning forward in his seat and planting his elbows on his desk. **"The militia training should be nearly complete, correct?"**

Mujahid nodded, **"Yes, Warlord. The standard end-of-training raid will occur in two weeks. We should be able to determine where the recruits should be placed within our forces and will weed out those who are unworthy."**

Idris nodded, **"Good. And Nuri?"**

**"****He has progressed well, surpassing all expectations we have placed on him. The only way we can challenge him now is by putting him up against the trainers in hand-to-hand combat. Other than that, the exercises have become too easy for him,"** Mujahid said, repressing his irritation. It irked him that the tiny heir had bested everything he had thrown at him.

**"****Excellent,"** Idris said as he leaned back into his chair. **"And how are his relations with the other recruits?"**

**"****He has proved himself to be as ruthless as you desire him to be and has certainly gotten over his aversion to killing,"** Mujahid mused to himself.

Idris looked at him, his brows furrowed, **"What do you mean?"**

Mujahid looked up at the Warlord, **"From what I've gathered, recently one of the recruits insulted you within the Nuri's earshot."**

Idris interrupted him before he could continue, **"I expect that the scum has been dealt with?"**

Mujahid nodded, **"Indeed he has, and by the Nuri's own hand."**

**"****Oh?"**

**"****As soon as he heard the insult, he was all over the scum. The recruit was badly beaten before Nuri finally shot him in the head. I only saw the end of the exchange. Nuri stood above the body and just smiled,"** Mujahid said, barely repressing a shudder as he remembered the malicious smirk that had curled the boy's lips. It made the child look inhuman and downright terrifying despite his age.

Idris couldn't help but smile, unaware of how similar it was to the one Nuri had worn the day before, **"Good. I believe he is ready. That will be all."**

Mujahid nodded and quickly left the room. Despite all he had seen and done he couldn't stop the fear that the Warlord, and now his heir, invoked.

* * *

Harry was excited. It was the end of his training and they were taking all of the recruits on a raid. The day before his aabbe had given him an AR-15 to celebrate and he spent most of the previous night practicing with it. He had taken an interest in marksmanship and was always frustrated by the inaccuracy of the AK-47s they were provided with. The AR-15 was far lighter than the AK-47 and had less kick back, both important for a child Harry's size. The major problem was that it was more difficult to care for an AR-15 than an AK-47 which which had been designed to pass through hell unscathed. It was also much more expensive.

Harry stood in formation with the rest of the recruits waiting for the trainers to come and debrief them. The other children were restless and chatted amongst themselves, whispering as if no one could hear them. He sneered in distaste. As the trainers came into view Harry schooled his face, showing none of his disgust for the fodder around him.

The trainers lined up in front of the group and one stepped forward to address them. _"Today will be your final test. We will be attacking __Bu'eeolei. The objective is to collect any food and supplies stored there, collect the villagers and kill all the rebels. Attempt to leave the villagers alive since they may be of some use to us."_

The recruits were restless with anticipation. A quiet murmuring could be heard at the back but it was quickly silenced by a well placed glare.

The trainer paused looking around at the group before continuing, _"There is one road that leads into the village and it is backed by the river Uebi Scebeli._ _You will be split into two groups, one attacking from the road and the other coming from the forest to the side. The ones attacking from the road will be used as a diversion so that the rebels don't notice the other group. For those coming from the forest, keep an eye on the river. We do not want any of them escaping by the boats moored there."_

The trainer stepped back only to be replaced by another who split them into two groups. Harry was happy when he was placed with the group attacking from the forest. He did not particularly like straight on confrontation, preferring to strike from hidden places. He liked what his aabbe called guerilla warfare.

Harry stood back from the other recruits who lined up to pick up their equipment. His gun had already been slung across his back and he had numerous clips stored on a bandolier and in his many pockets. Even the clips of the AR-15 were lighter meaning that he could carry far more of them, yet another benefit. Mujahid had also shown him how to tape the clips together so that when he needed to reload all he had to do was flip it over. Several of the children were obviously angry about his 'special treatment, but they were too scared to do anything that could be construed as a challenge to the heir.

Harry couldn't help but sneer when the trainers began handing out pills and lining the recruits up to snort _brown brown_. His aabbe made it clear that no heir of his would be reliant on stimulants. He had been upset at first but his aabbe explained that he was above the militia and had no need for the narcotics that the weak required. He was stronger so he didn't need the chemicals that the weak required to do their job.

The trainers didn't bother lining the recruits back up into formation as they were all too restless to sit still. Instead they were all directed to the trucks waiting for them and they all scrambled up into the back. Far fewer people got into the truck Harry chose and he was given the best spot in the bed, the others not wanting to challenge or be anywhere near him. He was standing behind the heavy artillery mounted into the bed of the truck.

Soon the sounds of engines revving filled the courtyard and the trucks took off driving over the grounds until they reached the gates. They drove through the city and the children laughed at the people in the streets running for cover at the sight of them. Harry could see the other recruits getting jumpy, their fingers twitching towards their triggers as if they wanted to shoot the citizens, and leveled a glare at them. His aabbe had emphasized numerous times about how important the populace is to their power base. It wouldn't do to antagonize them.

Soon the city gave way to countryside and Harry was practically bouncing where he stood in anticipation. After thirty minutes, but felt like hours, the trucks slowed and stopped before rounding a bend that disappeared behind a copse of trees. One of the trainers in a truck in front of them made a signal and all of the recruits assigned to the woods jumped out of the trucks.

A trainer rounded them together before speaking to them, _"We will be going through these woods. On the other side of the trees is the village. Use the trees as cover. We will be coming around the back to sandwich the soldiers guarding the road. Watch the river so we are not the ones surrounded."_

The soldiers made their way into the copse as the trucks drove off, darting through the trees as they ran in the direction of the village. The faster boys pulled ahead as gun shots rang out to the right and ahead of them. Harry slid behind a crop of bush and peered out at the town under siege. Villagers were running around frantically, most hiding out in their houses while an unlucky few made their way into the forest they were inhabiting. Harry could see large group of rebels was running from the river to what he expected was the entrance to the town.

Harry slinked out from behind the bush and made his way into the town using the buildings as cover. Sliding around the back of one of them, he crouched and peered around the edge of the wall. The trucks they had arrived in were parked haphazardly around the entrance to the village. Harry could see all of their soldiers using the trucks as cover as they fired indiscriminately towards the rebels. He looked at all of the bodies already littering the road and wondered how long it took them to figure out to use the vehicles for protection. He couldn't help but roll his eyes when he saw several of the older recruits on the heavy artillery. It was a waste of ammunition to give such high powered guns to children who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!

Shaking his head Harry lifted his AR-15 and took aim at the nearest rebel to him. He let a smile curl his lips as he watched the bullet rip through the man's head and quickly aimed for the one next to him. Several rebels had fallen before the rest of them realized that they had been surrounded. Harry could see the panic rippling through them, tearing their ranks apart and making them easy targets.

Harry couldn't help but flinch when he heard a shot come from behind. He whipped around and saw more rebels charging into the fight. He braced himself and took aim, downing several of them before one finally reached him. He yanked out his knife and stabbed the man in the stomach, twisting it up as far as he could. He let the man go and watched him fall to the ground at his feet, painting his trainers red.

Looking up, Harry saw that most of the rebels had been killed and he turned to join a group of soldiers making their way into the town. He followed them into the first house and watched them pull out a woman and her two children from the corner. Two of the men held the children as another threw the woman to the ground. The man knelt over her and ripped the guntiino off of her body. She thrashed against him, scratching at his face and kicking his legs. Harry jumped forward and grabbed one of the woman's flailing arms using his whole body weight to pin it to the ground. Another recruit joined him holding down her other arm. The soldier nodded to them before focusing back on his task.

Harry looked on dispassionately as the man yanked her legs apart and ripped off her slip. Her screams grew louder as he opened his fly and buried himself into her in one harsh thrust. Harry watched in fascination as blood started dripping from between the woman's legs as her screams grew louder.

He continued to hold her arms down as each of the soldiers took their turn, slapping her to consciousness whenever she would pass out from the pain. When the men were finally done they bodily dragged her from the house and threw her into the road with the rest of the villagers. Her children were hauled out of the house behind her, joining the group of people congregated in the road.

Harry stood guard over the villagers, finger twitchy on his trigger. He wanted to blast the glares from the men's faces. They had no right to look at him in such a manner. His eyes scanned the group and he saw that several of the soldiers had sat on the corpses of the rebels and villagers. He thought it rather morbid, but it looked comfortable all the same.

Once all the villagers and the few rebels left were rounded up, one of the soldiers stepped forward to speak.

_"__We have chosen to liberate your village from these rebels and those that are worthy will be given the honor of serving our Lord, Idris Nasri Abri, in his army. On your feet!"_ the soldier barked.

Harry watched as the soldiers went through and separated the villagers into three groups. One group was made up of primarily boys that looked to be somewhere between 10 and 16 years old. The second group was made up of solely women and girls, all fairly young; one looked like she could be no older than 12. The third group was made up of the really young, men and elders of the village.

The soldier that had been speaking turned to the first group. _"You all have honor to have chosen to serve to protect your families, but first you must prove yourselves. Each of you will be given a gun and paired up with a person from this group,"_ he said as he waved towards the group made up of the elderly, men and children. _"You are to shoot and kill them. If you do not, you will be shot instead."_

Harry sneered at the fear that swept through the group. Many of the recruits stepped forward to pass their guns to the boys and show them the basics of firing. A couple of the youngest boys began crying and were quickly shoved into the crowd waiting for their execution. Tears streamed down the faces of the women and the elders as the children shakily lifted their guns to aim at the people that had been their family and friends. Shaky fingers pulled triggers and the sounds of shots and screams echoed through the village. One by one the villagers fell to their own children. The women from the second group wailed in grief but were quickly shut up by the soldiers' fists. Several of the women and boys vomited at the sight of the river of blood that flowed from what was left of their families.

The recruits and soldiers took back their guns, congratulating the shell shocked boys before moving back to their units. Harry watched curiously as the older soldiers began arguing over the group of women and girls who were destined to become their wives and whores. The women tried to hold onto each other but were ripped apart by their soon to be husbands and herded over to one of the trucks. Harry helped load all of the food and supplies from the town into the back of a truck specially brought for this purpose before climbing into another, waiting to head home.

* * *

**Iblis:** An incarnation of the Devil in Islam.

**Brown brown:** Powdered cocaine cut with gunpowder. Consumed by inhalation, the gunpowder in the drug irritates the bowels which increases aggression.

**Bu'eeolei:** A village I made up using a mix of other names. I didn't want to use a real village to raid.

**Uebi Scebeli:** A river that runs parallel to the southern coast of Somalia. It runs up near Mogadishu.

**Guntiino:** A traditional Somali full-length dress, similar to an Indian sari but made of simple white or red cotton.

**A/N:** Boy do you guys hate Idris! Yes, he's dark. Yes, he can be considered evil with some of his actions, but you have to keep in mind that there's more to him than that. He really does want the best for Harry, the problem is that first world mores differ greatly from his own. He really does believe that putting Harry though all of this is in his best interest. He had a harsh life growing up on the streets of Mogadishu and doesn't want his son to ever suffer the way he did. He believes moulding Harry the way he is is the best way to prevent him going through the heartache he did.

This by no means makes him a nice man. He's softer when it comes to family, but he is still ruthless outside of it. A third world country is nothing like the world the majority of us grew up in. We know 'peace' and 'fairness', but for them, war is a way of life. There is a really good quote in the movie Black Hawk Down (which is actually set in Somalia during the Battle of Mogadishu) that show how different their reality is from most of ours:

_You have the power to kill, but not negotiate. In Somalia, _  
_killing is negotiation. Do you really think if you get General _  
_ Aidid, we will simply put down our weapons and adopt _  
_American democracy? That the killing will stop? We know this:_  
_without victory, there can be no peace. There will always_  
_be killing, you see? This is how things are, in __**our** worl__d. _

It's a very different world in Somalia than Britain, the US or any of the other first world countries. Keep that in mind when you think about the characters' actions.

The fact that the soldiers in this story took on whores and wives is based on fact. It's usually limited to the Generals and the like but it still happens frequently. Both the killing of the villagers and family members by the newest recruits as well as the use of corpses as furniture comes from _A Long Way Gone_; aka, it has really happened.


	11. Motes of Dust

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-). The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

**A/N:** Thanks to Simplicity Is Bliss for pointing out that I needed to read up more on the Islam and their association with magic. I honestly hadn't thought of it (which is sad given my penchant for research), and have tweaked a few explanations in this chapter to suit. I hope it solves your concern.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**March 1988**

Harry had been outside most of the morning practicing hand-to-hand combat with Mujahid when he saw his aabbe approach them. He bowed to Mujahid and turned towards his aabbe, smiling. One sharp look from Idris wiped the smile from his face; he knew better than to show any emotion other than disdain and indifference in public.

**"****Come, walk with me,"** Idris said smoothly, gesturing to Nuri while ignoring Mujahid.

Harry bowed his head, **"Yes, Father."** He bowed to Mujahid before turning to follow his aabbe.

They walked in silence for several minutes before Idris began speaking, _"I hear that the soldiers have a new name for you?"_

_"__Yes, Father. They call me Nuri."_

_"__It is a proper Somali name. Strong. They show you a lot of respect by giving you a name. They see you as one of them instead of as a foreigner,"_ Idris said, watching the comprehension slip across Nuri's face before speaking again. _"I think it's time for you to shed your English name. While your parents gave it to you, you belong here now and your name should reflect that."_

Harry had to hold back another smile. He had felt like such an outsider for the first year and a half and he finally felt at home.

_"__Names mean a lot here,"_ Idris continued._ "By giving your name you tell someone a lot about yourself. They will know where your from, what kind of family you have and will draw conclusions on you based on the actions and personalities of your family. Family means everything here." _He stopped and turned to Harry before continuing, _"You have become family for me, my son, and I want you to take my name to show that. You belong here, with me."_

Harry barely prevented himself from gaping; while his aabbe had adopted him a year and a half before, he had always felt out of place. His pale skin had darkened and his accent had disappeared but he still had a decidedly British name.

_"__Yes, Father,"_ Harry said as a small smile curled his lips. _"I would be honoured to bear your name."_

_"__Good. We name our children differently here than the English do. Here your parents will give you your first name, but your second and third come from your father and grandfather respectively. I believe the name you have been given is more than fitting, given its meaning, so your new name will be Nuri Idris Nasri."_

Nuri had to compose himself again before asking, _"What does Nuri mean, Father?"_

Idris smiled and began walking again, _"Nuri means fire, which brings me to the next subject. Since the fire incident last October I've been searching for an explanation. Last January I found a man who was able to explain it to me. There is a hidden group of magic users, real magic not the tricks some people like to stage. You performed magic last October and the January before when you conjured fire for protection."_

Nuri couldn't help the astonishment written all over his face and he froze in place, _"M-magic?"_ He couldn't stop the tendrils of fear that made their way through his body. He remembered his Aunt and Uncle's reaction to that word. It was bad. Forbidden. _"A-are y-you_," he paused and composed himself before continuing. _"Are you going to get rid of me?"_ His face was nearly blank, but you could still see the fear at the edges of his eyes.

Idris stopped and looked at Nuri, _"No, child. What ever gave you that idea?"_

Nuri shook his head trying to stamp down the terror he felt at the idea of being abandoned. He was trained better than this! He took a deep breath and answered, _"My Aunt and Uncle, they told me that if I ever said that word they'd dump me at an orphanage." _He was proud of himself when he kept himself from flinching at the anger that clouded his aabbe's face.

_"__Well then, I can't wait to speak with them again,"_ Idris growled before calming himself down. _"No, Nuri. You will not be abandoned. I told you once that any advantage you could have over your enemies is a good thing, remember?"_ He paused to wait for Nuri to nod before continuing, _"Well I consider magic to be one of those things. It is a rare and special gift. You can do marvelous things with it and protect yourself far better than I ever could."_

Nuri shook his head vigerously, _"You take care of me good, Father!"_

Idris smiled down at him, _"Well, Nuri, you take care of me__** well**__. But perhaps one day you'll need it when I'm not around, hmm? I met with a man named Ohin two months ago. He is one of the elders in the magic community and I made a deal with him. He will teach you and in turn I have built a community for them."_

_"__That's why we were making all those buildings," _ Nuri mused as they began walking again.

Idris nodded, _"Indeed. You will be meeting with him every day in the afternoons. Mornings will be spent with Mujahid and the evenings will be for us, but in the afternoons you will apply yourself to learn all you can about this magic."_

Nuri took a deep breath and they walked in silence for several minutes while he regained composure. They didn't speak again until they could see the new community. The buildings were roughly made, having been built by a bunch of untrained children and soldiers, but they were still in better shape than most of the villages Nuri had seen. Some of the recruits in the newest group were working on some of the larger buildings, all of the houses having been built first.

Along with the recruits were another group of people. Nuri supposed this was the group of magic users that were moving in. There were infants and mothers as well as elders older than anyone Nuri had seen before. He watched as a man that appeared older than any of the others broke away from the group. The first thing he noticed was the man's beard. It was long with strings, beads and feathers woven into it. The strings were brightly coloured, standing out sharply from the stark white hairs.

The man's clothing was simple, a pair of trousers and a pale blue shirt. When Nuri looked again at the man's face he noticed that the clothes matched his eyes; the colour of the palest sky. He found the ancient man's piercing gaze disconcerting, but relaxed when the eyes softened with what almost looked like affection. Nuri was confused; his is aabbe was the only other person that he could remember looking at him like that. Everyone else's eyes held either anger, fear or obeisance. He glared at the man, trying to hide his unease. The ancient man simply smiled at him.

He turned to his aabbe who had begun speaking, _"Nuri, this is Ohin. He is the Elder I spoke about and will be your teacher."_

Nuri turned to the man and bowed. No matter his opinion of the man, his aabbe had taught him to show respect to his elders. _"It is an honour to meet you, Elder."_

Ohin appraised the boy and bowed in turn, _"You as well, Nuri. And please call me Ohin. We will be working closely together so we might as well be familiar with one another."_

_"__As you will it, Ohin,"_ Nuri said with another bow of his head.

Idris nodded and turned to Nuri, _"And this is where I leave you, child. Apply yourself well and make me proud."_

_"__I shall, sir."_

Idris nodded to Ohin and left.

_"__Well,"_ Ohin began, drawing Nuri's attention back. _"Shall we go have some tea__ while we introduce ourselves?"_

Nuri nodded his head and followed Ohin through the small village. They walked in silence to the end of the row of houses and stepped into the building closest to the trees. This was not one Nuri had worked on and he looked around curiously at the sparse interior. The house was small, probably four meters by five meters and only had one room. Ohin led Nuri to a small table with two chairs and bustled about as he made tea liberally mixed with cardamom. He set a cup in front of Nuri before settling down into a chair.

_"__So,"_ the ancient man began, _"I have heard a lot about you young Nuri, both from inside and outside of the compound. You are a mystery to most of the people in Mogadishu who know of you." _He paused, studying Nuri's blank face. _"An orphan from Britain, adopted by one of the strongest Warlords in Mogadishu. Unusual indeed. One that inspires fear in the guards, and at seven years old no less."_

Nuri's eyes narrowed slightly at the Elder's words, _"They should fear me. Those that wronged me have paid, and those that will shall find no mercy."_

Ohin leaned back and sipped at his tea, _"Such strong words for a child as young as you."_

Nuri barely held back the growl that threatened to escape, _"I am not a child. I am old enough to kill. I am not a child."_

Ohin closed his eyes briefly, a sad look flickering across his face before he opened them again with a smile on his face. _"When you get to be my age, everyone is a child," _he said cheerfully. _"Now, I know about you so it's only fair that you know something about me. I was born a long time ago in this very city to a devoutly Muslim family. I had four brothers and two sisters. When I was about ten I showed some magic. My father had been after me for not doing one of my chores and just as he caught me I disappeared. I landed in a group of trees not too far away, very confused as you might imagine. When I finally made it back to the house the whole place was in an uproar. My father was a deeply religious man and saw the magic I did as the work of devils. I still remember the scripture he quoted me:_

_**In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful**_

_**He is Allah, the One! Allah, the eternally besought of all! He begets not nor was begotten. And there is none comparable unto Him.**_

_**In the name of Allah the Beneficent, the Merciful **_

_**I seek refuge in the in the Lord of daybreak From the evil of that which he created; From the evil of the darkness when it is intense, and from the evil of malignant witchcraft, And from the evil of the envious when he envies.**_

_**In the name of Allah the beneficent, the Merciful**_

_**I seek refuge in the Lord of mankind, The King of mankind, The God of mankind, From the evil of the sneaking whisper, Who whispers in the hearts of mankind, Of the jinn and of mankind.**_

_"__These are the last three chapters of the Holy Qur'an and it's believed that if someone recites them after each of the five daily prayers they will be immune to magic."_

Ohin paused, smirking. _"Needless to say I was thrown out of the house. I spent the next five years on the street before another Adept found me and took me into the small magic sect in which he lived. I spent the next six years training my power and then worked for a long time as a Shaman."_

Nuri interrupted, _"Adept?"_

Ohin leveled a gaze at him that nearly had him cringing. _"Yes, Adept,"_ he said. _"We are Adepts, magic users. Do not interrupt me again."_

Ohin paused, waiting for affirmation before continuing, _"There are many small communities like the one I was first taken into, like motes of dust in the wind. While many Muslims have their own superstitions pertaining to magic, nearly all of them react badly when they actually see it. Much of what they consider to be 'magic' is intangible and completely based on faith; they attribute certain things that occur to their 'magic', but they never actually see it working. I believe that seeing true magic makes most of them fearful and because of that they fall back onto the tenants of Islam, ignoring the fact that they practice their own brand of magic. Thus we are considered by most to be in league with the devil and are to be executed._

_"__Because of all of this we have never been able to truly form our own community like the ones I have heard exist elsewhere. We live in small sects all over the country, hiding and training our own when we find them. Our isolation makes it difficult to learn more about our magics so we know little about what creates us. It is also difficult since many of those we train leave us when they're done with their tuition._

_"__As far as we can tell, magical children are borne from magical parents. We believe that a very low percentage of people recognise that they have magic and if they do they may be too afraid of the persecution to train it. Even if they recognise it in their own children they are likely to turn a blind eye out of fear. But, the few children that have been born in our communities are magical with rare exceptions._

Ohin smiled at Nuri, _"But, all that is about to change thanks to you and the Warlord."_

Nuri looked at the ancient man in confusion, _"What do you mean? What have I done?"_

_"__You exist, child. This safe haven has come into existence simply because you exist. The Warlord has created this community for you, so that you have support and training. He has provided us with a way to live freely and safely, to coalesce our specks of dust until we have mortar and brick."_

Nuri blinked a couple times, unsure of what to think about this new information. Creating a whole community was no small feat. His thoughts were interrupted by the Elder.

_"__Now for your lessons. Because we never have a large number of children being trained at any given time we work on the mentor system. Normally when a child begins their training they spend all of their time with their mentor training and performing other duties, but since you have other obligations we cannot do this so you will be coming here every afternoon to train. You have displayed an explosive lack of control thus far and need to apply yourself completely to your lessons in order to manage__ it__. I suspect that you are a particularly strong __Destroyer and if you don't gain control over your magic it could be devastating."_

Ohin paused while he took a sip of tea and Nuri took the opportunity to ask, _"Destroyer?"_

Ohin smiled and leaned back in his chair. _"Ah yes, Destroyer. Thus begins our first lesson on the basics of our magics. The most important thing to understand is that our magic is highly mind and earth based. We use our minds to control the magics we are gifted by the earth. Without an organised mind, magic can spiral out of an Adept's control._

_"__There are four categories of magic users: Healers, Builders, Charmers, and Destroyers. There are elements associated with each of these categories but elementals themselves are rare; they usually end up either annihilating themselves or are too obvious about their magic and are executed._

_"__The Healers are the most difficult to identify and describe. Their magic is intangible and fluid; it runs through their bodies, in their very veins. Healers are magnificent Shaman and Midwives. Their cures work better than ordinary men and they have an inborn instinct for what herbs and medicines a person needs. Some of the stronger Healers can work their magic through their hands, literally using them to heal. I have seen some of these people pull out venoms and close wounds with simply their hands. Needless to say these people are high in demand. Interestingly enough, few of them get executed regardless of their blatant magics. I think that people are too grateful for the cure to pay close attention to what caused it. Any water elementals belong to this group._

_"__The next group is the Builders. These people come from strong and sturdy stock. They tend to be very practical and grounded people and their magics run along the same lines. These people are the creators, the craftsmen and architects. Their magics guide their skills, making them stronger, their techniques smoother and their ideas more creative. They can create amazing pieces of art and erect strong buildings that can last for generations. The downside to this, and something I find interesting, is that if a Builder attempts to destroy anything their magics will work against them, fighting them every step of the way. The element associated with this group is earth, the basis from which everything is drawn."_ Ohin sat back in his chair and took a long drink from his tea before beginning again.

_"__Next are the Charmers. These people are the most difficult to define since their abilities are so diverse. While Healers focus on diseases and Builders focus on objects, Charmers have an affinity for living things. Animals and people are drawn to Charmers, listening to them in ways they would to no one else. Some Charmers have a particular affinity for plants and work with Healers or as farmers. Some of the more powerful Charmers can effectively control people and animals; needless to say this can cause problems if the ability falls into the wrong hands. The Beast Speakers fall into this category as well, and from what I can understand is a very useful ability for a Charmer. Air is associated with this group, epitomising the intangible quality of their magics._

_"__The last group is the Destroyers. They are very different from the first three groups. While the magics of the first groups can be considered constructive and peaceful, the Destroyers are the antithesis. Their magics are set up in such a way to encourage destruction and chaos. If controlled, a Destroyers magics can be very useful. They make the best hunters and specialise as warriors. Many act as mercenaries and fight in militias. Some of the most famous battles were fought by them and many war heroes are Destroyers. Similar to the Builders, a Destroyer's magic will work against them if they try to create. Fire is the element associated with this group, and with you."_

Nuri looked at Ohin curiously, _"Me? Is that why you say that I'm a Destroyer? Because I've made fire happen?"_

Ohin nodded, _"Yes, and from what I understand it was rather spectacular at that."_

Nuri's lips curled up into a vicious sneer as he remembered the infernos he created, _"They deserved it!"_

Ohin turned a sharp eye on Nuri, _"I understand that the Warlord is raising you a certain way and while I disagree with it I have to accept that. However, I will lay some ground rules here."_

Nuri looked at Ohin suspiciously. He did not like it when people questioned his aabbe.

_"__First,"_ Ohin began, _"You are to refrain from any acts of violence in this community and around me regardless of where we are. This includes any threat of violence, such as carrying a gun. Do you understand me?"_

_"__Why?"_ Nuri asked uneasily. He liked the comfort and feeling of power his gun gave him and was loath to part with it.

_"__Because this is a peaceful community. There is enough violence surrounding us that we don't want to encourage it from within, particularly since the magics we hold could be particularly deadly. If you want training, you __**will**__ obey my commands,"_ Ohin said sternly.

Nuri nodded hesitantly and removed the guns he had strapped to his sides, laying them by the door.

Ohin nodded in satisfaction, _"Second, you will treat everyone within this community with respect. I realise that your position gives you authority over those within the compound, but as long as you are a student you will wield no authority here."_

Nuri couldn't help but glare at the Elder for this stipulation. What was the old man doing stripping him of all of his power!

_"__Third, you will do everything I request of you without hesitation or question. You are more powerful than any other Adept that I have seen in many years and if you lost control you could easily level the entire compound. If you cannot abide by these three rules then you may walk out the door and explain to the Warlord why I cannot fulfill my side of the agreement."_

Nuri's eyes widened very slightly. While he was willing to adhere to the demands just so he could learn to use his magics, albeit grudgingly, the threat of his aabbe had his unquestioning obedience.

He schooled his face before replying, _"Yes, Elder. I understand and will abide by your rules."_

A smile broke out across the ancient man's face, brightening his pale blue eyes, _"Good! Now we can begin."_


	12. The Redwoods

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton and I would be FAR too busy to write this ;-). The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

_"__Somali"_  
**"****Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979** – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.  
**1985** – Idris' family is killed.  
**1986** – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.  
**1989** – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.  
**1991** – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.  
**1992** – Operation Restore Hope launched.  
**1993 **– Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)  
**1996** – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**March 1988**

_"__You seem to be doing well in your meditation exercises. I imagine that you have been keeping up with practising at night like I suggested?"_ Ohin asked, waiting for Nuri's affirmation before continuing. _"Good. Instead of focusing on meditation, I wanted to continue our discussion on magical theory today."_

Nuri nodded, grateful for the break. He had spent the last two weeks in intensive meditation, struggling to settle his mind and emotions as well as finding and studying his magical core. He had only finally located it in the last couple days and had spent all of his free time since in meditation, studying it in fascination. It reminded him of the balls of yarn he had seen Ayann knitting from, the strings of magic wrapping around itself. Most of the strings were an emerald green, matching the colour of his eyes, but there were many strands of red and orange and one thick black strand that disturbed him. He had attempted to study it once but was immediately repulsed and thrown out of his meditative state by the pure anger and hatred he felt radiating off of it. Needless to say he stayed far away from it since. He had told Ohin about it but the elder man was just as perplexed as he was.

As tempted as he was to do it, Ohin had forbidden him to play with the strings saying that he didn't have enough control over his mind yet. Because of that he threw himself into the exercises, determined to progress enough so that he could use the magic he could feel thrumming through his veins. He was excited that the work had paid off and they were going to discuss more magic.

_"__We covered a lot very quickly the last time we spoke about our magics and I figured we would have a more in depth conversation about it today."_ Ohin paused, drinking the tea he seemed to always have in his hand. _"Did you have any questions about what I told you last time?"_

Nuri cocked his head to the side, trying to decide which of the many questions he should ask first. _"I have been thinking about the categories you told me about... the Builders, Charmers, Healers and Destroyers, right?"_ Ohin nodded and Nuri continued, _"They seem so... final; like a Healer can do nothing with their magic but heal and a Charmer can only work with living things..." _Nuri trailed off, having a hard time expressing himself.

_"__Ah..."_ Ohin said, setting his tea down and sitting back in his seat. _"I should have guessed that you'd pick up on that. Most children, and adults, only focus on their singular category to the exclusion of all else and never question the extent to which they can use their magics. It's a byproduct of how the majority of us were raised. Unlike you, we had to struggle to survive. No, hear me out,"_ Ohin said, seeing Nuri bristle. _"While you had it hard in England, you still had a roof over your head and some food, even if it wasn't much. Most of us don't even have that. To us, survival is a way of life. In Europe the majority of the people have the luxury of focusing on other things, but we do not. We focus on what we must to survive._

_"__A Builder may be able to magically heal some minor ailments, but he would never be able to do it as well as a Healer. Why focus on their weakness when their magics would be better used towards building? We need these groups of people; we need their skills to help us live. If a person has a predilection towards Healing, why train them as a Destroyer when we __**need**__ good Shamans? Why have a Destroyer attempt to build a house when he'd be ineffective since his magics will work against him, especially when we __**need**__ people to hunt and protect us?"_

Nuri furrowed his brows in thought, _"His magics will work against him? So a Builder simply can't destroy anything?"_

Ohin shook his head, _"Not quite. A Builder could hunt or tear down a house, but he couldn't effectively use his magics to do it. While someone particularly strong might be able to force their magics, they would be working against them and make it far more difficult than it would be for a Destroyer. Like you for example; due to your abilities with fire you are obviously a Destroyer, but you helped build this village, did you not?"_

Nuri nodded slowly, _"But I didn't use any magics. If I tried to use my magics they would have worked against me?"_

Ohin smiled the lines in his face deepening, _"Yes, they would have. They would have made it much more difficult for you than it would for a Builder. I have no doubt you would have been able to do it given your obvious strength, but the result would likely have been crude and simple while a Builder could make something ornate and complex. You would likely do a much better job manually than you could using your magics."_

_"__I think I understand," _Nuri said hesitantly. _"While in theory any Adept could do any sort of magic, they wouldn't necessarily be very effective, which is problem since each specialty is necessary for survival."_ Seeing Ohin's nod Nuri continued, _"But what about something that my magics wouldn't work against, like Charming?"_

_"__It's true that your magics shouldn't work against you, but you would never be as good as a Charmer. You would be far better at it then you ever would be at building, but you still wouldn't be at the same level of ability. If you were a member of our community your training would be solely based on Destroying since we need good hunters and protectors, we simply couldn't waste your skills on anything else."_

Nuri cocked his head, his hair swaying over his shoulder, _"It's a good thing I'm not part of your community then."_

Ohin stared at him for a few tense moments. _"I suppose it is," _he said flatly. He knew better than to say anything against the Warlord, particularly in front of his son, but he certainly didn't agree with a magical child being raised outside of their community especially if they're encouraged to use their abilities the way the Warlord intended. He sighed and sipped at his tea before pushing his thoughts aside, _"I think we've covered enough for today. You are to go out to the trees and practice your meditation."_

Nuri looked at the Elder strangely but didn't object. He stood and bowed before heading to his usual spot amongst the trees, leaving the ancient man to his troublesome thoughts.

* * *

It was one of the rare days that Nuri had free from all of his lessons. His aabbe cleared these days particularly so that Nuri could accompany him on business and other errands. Nuri was just happy to spend some time with his aabbe and eager to see him in action. He thought his aabbe was brilliant and loved to see the sheer power and respect that he wielded; not to mention the fear he inspired in others.

This particular morning he was to sit in on a meeting with a new gunrunner. The man that his aabbe had been dealing with recently turned up dead in the Russian tundra so he was currently looking for a replacement. This particular gunrunner was new to the trade, but purportedly had a good head on his shoulders.

Nuri stood next to and slightly behind his aabbe, shifting restlessly. He was excited but also rather bored with nothing to occupy him. Idris turned at the sound, narrowing his eyes at Nuri who stopped fidgeting. His aabbe had made it quite clear how he was to act. He was to stay still and watch the proceedings without interfering. He was to stay quiet and simply watch. Idris had told him quite plainly that he was too young and inexperienced to participate but that he would be expected to learn so that he could take part in the deals when he was older. Nuri was frustrated with this but obeyed without question. He intended to learn everything he could so that he could participate.

A knock sounded at the door and Idris stood, calling for the person to enter. One of the guards opened the door and a man with a briefcase entered the room. The man was tall and white, the most obvious features in a culture filled with shorter, dark-skinned people. He had short black hair and a plain face with a narrow nose and thin lips. He wore a suit and carried a thick briefcase. Overall the man wasn't very impressive.

The man approached the desk, reaching out a hand in greeting. Nuri could practically feel his aabbe raising an eyebrow but Idris shook his hand all the same. Nuri bristled as the man sat without being invited nor having waited for the Warlord to sit first as was custom. He could see all of the guards around the room shift in anger for the lack of respect the man showed. Idris slowly took his seat his anger obvious to Nuri, although he doubted the man noticed.

"Thank you for meeting with me Idris," the man began in an American drawl.

The Warlord interrupted him before he could continue. "I did not offer you the familiarity of using my given name," he said frostily. "You are to address me as either Warlord or sir, do you understand?"

The man looked shocked and Nuri wondered what sort of uncultured heathen his aabbe had invited. "Yes," he stuttered before composing himself. "Of course. My apologies Warlord."

The Warlord nodded and gestured for the man to continue.

"Well, thank you for meeting with me, Warlord. My name is Stephen Henderson..."

Nuri tried to keep his mind on the man's words, but he had a hard time paying attention. Stephen was outlining information on his products that Nuri already knew, and he was eight! He couldn't believe that the man would be so stupid as to think that they knew nothing about the most standard guns on the market. It was normal to give all of the specifics on new models that a gunrunner is offering, but he was pitching models that they had used for years.

Stephen obviously regained his confidence as he made his way through his sales pitch. The man seemed to be in his own world and didn't notice their boredom. Nuri doubted that his aabbe would be dealing with this man for very long. It was obvious that he didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have enough respect for his clients to learn their cultures which showed a stunning lack of professionalism as well as simple stupidity.

Nuri was grateful when the Warlord finally interrupted the brainless American. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson, I think I have heard enough." Nuri couldn't help but smirk at how startled the man appeared. "I do not think I will be doing business with you. The guards will show you out, good day."

The Warlord stood and turned to get ready to leave when the man burst out, "What?! I came all this way and you won't even listen to me?"

Nuri couldn't believe the audacity of the man and stepped forward only to be blocked by his aabbe's arm.

"I don't think you understand," the Warlord said coldly. "I listened to as much as I wanted to and I do not want to do business with you. You are inconsiderate and can offer me nothing, thus you can leave."

"How dare you!" the man shouted but was abruptly cut off by the sight of ten different guns trained on him, including Nuri's. He looked around nervously but seemed to regain his composure, "You threaten me?"

Nuri marveled at how stupid the man could be. Maybe it was an American thing. Regardless it didn't stop the fury he could feel coursing through his veins.

The Warlord chuckled, "I do not need to threaten. A threat implies not following through." He looked at the man for a moment before seeming to come to a decision, "I think your level of incompetence is astounding and consider your lack of respect to be a personal affront. I was going to dismiss it and leave you to your ignorance, but now I think the world would be improved if you weren't in it."

As soon as the Warlord finished his sentence the American moved to go for his briefcase that Nuri knew had weaponry in it. The guards were at his sides in a flash and two restrained him as another ripped the briefcase away. He was forced down to his knees and Nuri followed his aabbe as he made his way around the desk.

"P-please don't, I h-have a wife at h-home, and a ch-child," the man begged, tears coursing down his face.

Nuri sneered, "You should have thought of that before you came here. Sir," he said respectfully as he turned to his aabbe. "May I?"

The Warlord looked down at the sniveling man and then over at Nuri, meeting his eyes before nodding. He turned back to the kneeling man, "I have a child as well and he takes it quite seriously when someone offends me. I was just going to let the guards handle you, but it seems my son would like to instead."

The man's eyes widened as they turned to Nuri. He continued begging, snot and tears running down his face. Disgusted, Nuri raised his gun to the man's forehead and pulled the trigger, relishing the echoing shot as well as the sound of a body hitting the floor. He felt his aabbe's hand on his shoulder and turned towards him

"_Good job, my son,"_ he said with a small smile on his face. _"You have made me proud. You comported yourself well and handled the situation admirably."_ He stopped and looked down at his watch, ignoring the guards dragging the body from the room and the maids cleaning up the blood. _"Just in time for lunch. Where would you like to go?"_

* * *

**April 1988**

The weather was cooling down slightly as it made its way into winter, although it was still a bit warmer than England even during its hottest months. But Nuri hardly noticed it that morning though as he walked with his teacher in the trees in his aabbe's compound. He was focusing on clearing his mind the way the elder man had instructed him to, a form of meditation in motion. He thought of nothing but being in the present moment, listening to the wind rustling the leaves above him and seeing the climb up the trunks.

It had been very difficult at first, keeping his mind from focusing on anything outside of the here and now; he had to learn to recognise and accept a thought without delving into it, letting it brush by him like wind and water before drawing his focus back.

As they reached a familiar clearing Nuri brought himself out of his trance and focused on the Elder, curious as to why he had accompanied him today. He took his usual position, sitting on the ground in the center of the clearing and looked up at the older man who perched on a nearby tree stump.

_"__You progressed faster then I expected in your meditation exercises and have decided that you can begin to learn mind magics,"_ Ohin began. Nuri's eyes flashed in excitement before he was able to school them back to blankness.

Ohin raised an eyebrow and continued, _"Every Adept had to begin with the basics of mind magics before they can learn to control their magics. They have to learn to school their mind and focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else. Without this skill their magics could easily get out of control, mutating to fit everything the Adept was imagining. There have been cases in which a Shaman accidentally ripped a person apart while trying to heal because they were thinking about some conflict happening in their life. Needless to say, it can be rather gruesome."_

The ancient man repressed a sigh at Nuri's obvious excitement at the thought of his magics being used in such a way. 'I'm going to have to avoid an example like that in the future,' he thought before continuing his lecture.

_"__Most Adepts, however, do not continue in their study of mind magics but they have many uses outside of learning to focus one's magics. Someone trained in mind magics can organise their mind to make learning and retaining information easier. They can delve into other peoples' minds to gain information or to manipulate their thoughts and memories. They can also learn to defend themselves against such attacks._

_"__In order to begin learning to use these types of magics though you have to learn to organise and protect your own mind. You have to learn how to manipulate your own thoughts and memories so you can get the feeling of others'._

_"__It is difficult to walk somebody through the organisation process so I will be first showing you my own system and protections. The primary method of slipping into another's mind is through the eyes. In theory you could do it without eye contact, but I have never seen nor heard of it done. You need to maintain eye contact with me and reach your magics out to touch mine. I will be helping pull you in at that point so you shouldn't have any difficulty."_

Nuri nodded and settled himself more comfortably on the ground before lifting his eyes to meet Ohin's. He maintained eye contact as he shifted his focus inwards. He felt warmth spread through his body and grasped hold of the feeling, pushing it down his arms and out through his hands. He directed his magic towards the Elder and felt it meet up with the man's aura. He felt Ohin's magics draw his in, directing it to flow into his mind. He felt something he could not identify but didn't have time to analyse it before he was thrown into a vision.

Instead of the mahogany trees, Nuri was surrounded by buildings similar to those he had seen in other villages. They were simple mud and wood houses with thatched roofs. He counted about twelve of them in all in a rough oval around a center courtyard of dirt. The village itself was surrounded by trees that Nuri didn't recognise and people he had never seen milled about.

With no warning whatsoever he felt someone grab him from behind and hold a knife to his neck. He froze, running through a list of ways he could get out of the situation when Ohin suddenly appeared before him. He glared at the elder man who just smiled in return.

_"__That,"_ Ohin gestured, _"is my first line of defense. These people are from my past and now they protect my mind. They will attack whomever slips their way into my mind if I ask them to."_

The person behind Nuri released him and he rubbed at his neck. _"What would happen if I was hurt here?" _Nuri asked, disturbed by the the feeling of the blade against his skin.

_"__Ah, you have touched upon an important fact. Anything that happens here would transfer over to your physical self. If he had slit your throat then you would likely die. That's an important thing to keep in mind since you don't necessarily want to kill anyone that invades your mind,"_ Ohin replied. _"But I don't truly hurt anyone invading mine; I usually have the villagers hold them until I come to deal with them. If they're stupid enough to enter the forest though..." _Ohin trailed off, his face solemn. _"I take the privacy of my mind very seriously."_

Nuri nodded and looked around the village. The people that had been previously milling about now had all of their focus on them. He found himself rather unnerved at the attention and focused back on Ohin when he began speaking again.

_"__Come,"_ Ohin said, leading him into one of the houses.

He followed the ancient man into the nearest house, making his way up the stairs and ignoring the people on the patio that stared at him. He couldn't help the gasp that escaped as he entered the house. It had looked like a small one-bedroom hut from the outside, but on the inside the size rivaled that of some of the largest rooms in the manor. Instead of the standard furniture the room was filled with bookcases, all lined with books. He walked up to one of the shelves to get a better look at them. Some of them looked ancient while others looked brand new. None of them had titles.

Ohin stepped up beside him and lifted one of the books off the shelf. _"This is how I have stored my memories and all of the information I have acquired over my long life. Each book holds a different memory or topic and I have organised them accordingly. This room holds most of my knowledge of magic,"_ Ohin said as he opened up the book and flipped through the pages. Nuri could see that each page held a different image. The elder man stopped on a particular page and the image came to life filling the room with sound.

_**"**__**You will be learning how to set broken bones today,"**_** a man said in Somali. He looked as ancient as Ohin but wore what Nuri recognised as an older style of clothing. He could see a boy standing next to the old man that he didn't recognise until he turned. The boy had the telltale pale blue eyes of Nuri's mentor. **

_**"**__**This is a nine year old girl that fell from a fence this afternoon. Both bones in the forearm were broken, but as you can see they did not quite break through the skin..."**_

The sounds faded out as Ohin closed the book.

_"__The boy, that was you?"_ Nuri asked, looking up at the Elder.

Ohin nodded, _"Yes it was, and the man was my mentor. I have always loved books and decided that I wanted to store all of my memories in them. Some have pictures as you just saw while others simply have text."_

Nuri followed Ohin out of the house and looked around at the other buildings. _"And all of these houses are filled with books like this one?"_ Ohin nodded and Nuri asked another question, _"Are they all as big on the inside?"_

_"__That is another unique aspect about the mind. While we are affected by everything that happens here, the place itself is not constrained by the rules of our environment. If you can really believe that something can happen here, it will. I didn't want a city of houses, nor did I want mansions, so instead I made the houses bigger inside."_

The people in the village had apparently returned to their tasks and ignored them as Ohin led Nuri towards the trees. Nuri looked at the trees and found himself unwillingly scared by them. They loomed above them, menacing in their size as well as their movements. They seemed to sway, not in the usual graceful manner of trees bending to the wind, but instead jerkily, as if they were trying to fight and reach for something. The ground itself was dark, the trees creating shadows far darker than normal, and Nuri thought that he could see eyes peering out at him.

The elder man appeared unperturbed by the scene, striding up to the trees without a care. Nuri held back, unwilling to go as close.

_"__This,"_ Ohin began, patting one of the trees, _"is my outer line of defence. If someone were to attempt to flee, the only place they would have to go is into the forest where there are many more dangerous things. There are many traps in here including quicksand and creatures. The trees themselves will attack anybody who crosses them."_

Nuri nodded and edged away from the forest, unwilling to tempt the obvious peril within. He was brave in many ways, but it would obviously be suicide to enter such a place.

_"__There are other ways to deal with those that enter your mind. One of my favourite ways is to completely disorient them. That way if they are able to overcome the majority of my defenses they wouldn't be able to truly do anything. One way of doing that is to create a fog,"_ Ohin said as clouds began to roll in.

Before Nuri could blink they were surrounded by a thick fog. He looked around and found that he could see nothing but his mentor at his side. The village had disappeared from view, as well as the forest that was only ten feet from them.

_"__I can make the fog as thick as I'd like, from simply a mist to one in which you can't see the hand in front of your face. Something that's useful if they try to read my books,"_ Ohin said.

Nuri furrowed his brows and asked, _"But what about the sounds from the memories?"_

As soon as he said that the entire village was filled with the sounds of horns, music and static. Nuri quickly covered his ears, trying to block out the sound but found that he was completely unsuccessful. As soon as the sound had started, it stopped and he was left with ringing in his ears.

Nuri shook his head, _"Got it. Don't do that again."_

Ohin inclined his head, _"As you wish. I think you have seen enough for today, hmm?"_

Before he knew what was happening Nuri was thrown from the old man's mind and found himself back in the clearing. It took several moments for him to regain his bearings before he looked back up at the Elder, his ears still ringing.

_"__As you can see, I am also capable of simply throwing a person out. It takes a great amount of power and control to do that. It is not my preferred way of dealing with intruders though since I can simply hold them captive in my mind and question them there,"_ Ohin said, smirking. _"You appear to have come along far enough in your meditation that we can begin to set up your defenses. After we've done that we can move onto invading other people's minds. I want you to close your eyes and think of a place you feel safe. A place in which you feel secure is the ideal setting to protect your mind."_

Nuri nodded and closed his eyes, centering and calming himself, pushing away all thoughts of Ohin's village. His mind flitted through all of the places he had seen and been. He thought about the manor. While he felt at home there, he didn't feel the complete serenity he wanted to have set in his mind. He thought about England, definitely not, and then about the other places he had seen in Somalia. He pushed down the growing frustration he felt and decided to just relax and delve deeper into his meditative state.

He emptied his mind of thoughts of places and just worked on the here and now. He focused on the feeling of breathing, the air filling and emptying from his lungs and the feeling of it passing through his nose. He broadened his senses to take in the sounds around him; the wind passing through the leaves, the animals scurrying around in the underbrush and the insects flying through the air.

He felt his mood and magic settle within him, peace flooding his senses and he was struck. Here was his place; the forest. He had always loved trees, even when he was in England. He had dreamed of the serenity of the forest when he was stuck in the cupboard, imagining himself surrounded by the different trees he had seen in pictures and on the telly the few times he had been allowed to watch it. He had always loved the redwoods in particular. One of the few times he had been allowed to watch the telly a programme on the redwoods was playing. Dudley had quickly gotten bored and left when his parents didn't give into his whinging, but Nuri had been fascinated by all of the information imparted. He found the deep reddish brown colour of the bark beautiful and the heights of the trees amazing.

A small smile curled at his lips and he pulled himself out of his meditative state. He opened his eyes to see his mentor staring at him.

_"__You have found a place?"_ he asked.

Nuri nodded and began to describe the forests to him, waxing on about the redwoods in particular. As he wound down a look of contemplation made its way across Ohin's face.

_"__That seems like a good choice. You obviously feel strongly about it and it sounds like you have always found solace among the trees. Perfect. First we will have to build the forest and then we'll have to figure out a way to store your memories and create protections,"_ Ohin said, his excitement evident on his face and in his voice. _"Now, to reach the landscape of your mind you will be slipping into your normal meditative state, but instead of following your magic to your core as you have been doing you will be following your feelings and thoughts to their source. It is difficult to describe but it's very similar to the exercises you have already performed."_

Nuri nodded slowly, processing everything Ohin was saying. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, lulling himself into his usual peaceful state. While he normally pushed his thoughts aside, this time he grabbed onto one. He didn't allow himself to ponder the topic, but instead felt his way up the thought itself trying to find the source. The first thought slipped from his grip and he pushed down his frustration and prepared himself for the next one.

It was very difficult. The thoughts kept trying to slip or fade from his grip. He had to hold onto the thought without succumbing to thinking about it. He was panting and sweating from the effort and after what felt like ages he found himself on a white plain with random debris covering the endless floor. He was too busy trying to make sense of all the large and small pieces of something around his feet to feel Ohin's magic slipping along his own. He started when he heard the Elder's voice ring out from behind him.

_"__I am surprised you have made it this far, child," _Ohin said, ignoring Nuri bristling at the word. _"It usually takes many many tries before someone can get here. Your dedication to your studies has paid off."_

Nuri bowed to the ancient man, proud of the rare compliment. He looked down and back at the random balls of colors and shapes. _"What is all of this?"_ he asked.

Following his line of sight Ohin looked at all of the debris scattered on the white floor. _"These are your thoughts and memories. Don't worry,"_ he quickly reassured at Nuri's horrified look, _"this is normal. Prior to organisation everyone's mind looks similar to this."_

Nuri asked, _"How do I change it?"_

_"__Focus,"_ Ohin said. _"Let's start with the ground. Imagine what it would look like as a forest floor. Think of every detail, from the colour to the texture."_

Nuri nodded and closed his eyes, imagining the earth. It would be a deep brown, but there would be flecks of other things in it. While it would be grainy, there would be a certain level of moisture to it...

As soon as that thought passed through his mind he lost his balance and fell. His feet had sunk into newly formed mud and he fell into a deep brown puddle. He looked up at Ohin who had managed to remain on his feet.

_"__I think you might of over done it," _he said, the amusement evident in his voice._ "Maybe a little less water this time?"_ He was obviously trying to keep himself from outright laughing.

Nuri sneered and levered himself to his feet before closing his eyes again and focusing back on the ground. '_Less_ moisture!' he thought, focusing on what it would look like _dry_. He held back a sigh of relief as he felt the ground firm up underneath his feet and the mud caked on his clothing fall to the ground as it dried.

_"__Better!"_ he heard Ohin exclaim. He opened his eyes and looked around the plain. Instead of a blindingly white floor the debris now rested on miles of earth. The dirt was a deep brown and had lumps and bumps just like a normal forest floor. Nuri let a small smile creep across his face and looked back up at Ohin who was smiling down at him.

_"__Now,"_ Ohin said as he clapped, _"the trees! In order to do this you will do the same thing. However, it would likely be easier if you imagined them from seedlings and then made them grow instead of starting out with full grown trees. For some reason, things in our minds just aren't as stable if we take the short cut. I myself had to build every building in my village as well as grow the forest around it."_

Nuri nodded and closed his eyes again and imagined a bunch of seedlings around him, ready to be buried. When he opened his eyes again he was surrounded by little trees ready to be planted. He picked up one of the closest plants and examined it. The trunk was thin but showed the beginnings of the trademark bark. The branches were sparse but solid and it even had a few nettles at the ends. He smiled and knelt down on the ground placing the little plant next to him while he closed his eyes and imagined one of the tools he remembered his aunt Petunia giving him to work in the garden. He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw the trowel and began digging into the earth. Once he dug out a decent hole he set the miniature tree into it and surrounded the root ball with the dirt he had dug out. He patted down the earth around the trunk and smiled down at the seedling before turning to grab another.

Nuri began to set down and bury hundreds of seedlings, brushing memories out of the way and making sure to give them enough space between each of them. He remembered the programme saying that the redwood trees tend to choke out any life within a certain radius of their trunks and he didn't want the trees to kill each other.

It took a considerable amount of time to plant all of them but he took a level of satisfaction in the work; he always enjoyed doing things by hand. Once he was done he made his way back to his mentor, winding his way through the plants.

_"__Excellent. Now, simply will them to grow. Make sure that you keep focus on that thought. And I would recommend not doing it too quickly,"_ Ohin suggested.

Looking around at the large expanse of plants he pictured the trees reaching for the sky. 'Wait,' he thought suddenly 'There needs to be a sky for them to reach for.' He furrowed his brows and imagined what the sky would look like above them. He imagined a deep blue sky with dark clouds rumbling in the distance. He placed the sun towards the horizon, just peeking out over the edge of the clouds.

He heard his mentor praising him for the consideration in the background but tuned it out as he focused back on his plants. He imagined the seedlings reaching into the earth, digging their roots down deep to reach the nutrients stored there. He could feel the branches stretching towards the sky to soak up the rays of the sun. He pushed more nutrients into the ground, encouraging the trees to soak them up and use them and the sun to grow.

He watched the trees lengthen and reach for the sky and could feel their roots worming their way into the ground. The trees grew and grew past his hip, up until they reached his head, and then higher. The trunks thickened and the bark grew deep furrows. Soon the trees reached far above their heads and blotted out the sun only showing peeks of the blue sky and he decided that they were tall enough and instructed them to stop growing.

When he drew his focus away from the trees he saw Ohin reach out to one of the trees, tracing his fingers along the ridges and troughs of the bark.

_"__Beautiful,"_ Ohin whispered before clearing his throat and looking back at Nuri curiously. _"Why did you make everything so uniform? Aren't most forests varied, their trees different sizes and spaced more irregularly?"_

Nuri took a moment to gather his thoughts and bring himself away from his trance before responding, _"Yes, but then it would be easy to recognise where you were. This way every place looks the same and a person wouldn't be able to know where they are."_

The Elder seemed to ponder this. _"I can see that. It will be far more disorienting without landmarks you can use to determine your location. Excellent thinking. Now, what are you going to do about all these thoughts?"_ Ohin asked, gesturing at the debris littering the dirt floor.

Nuri looked around thinking about ways to hide and possibly organise them. He thought about burying them in the dirt but dismissed it since they would be difficult to access and organise. He looked up at the nettles but disregarded that since they were too impermanent. While he could keep the nettles from falling, they may still detach from their branches. His eyes traced their way down the trees until he reached the trunk. The bark was a dark reddish brown and had deep grooves, some as deep as two inches. He stepped up to one of the trees and ran his finger down one of the ruts.

_"__What about these?"_ he asked. _"The memories might fit into the furrows."_ He turned to face Ohin who seemed deep in thought.

_"__That could work,"_ the Elder slowly replied. _"You can stretch them out into long strands and bury them into the bark. I can see each tree being used to store memories of a particular type. Why don't you try it?"_ he said.

Nuri looked down and reached for one of the balls. As he picked it up an image flashed across his vision. It was a memory of his uncle yelling at him for burning the bacon. Nuri sneered and made a motion to throw it away before Ohin stopped him.

_"__No,"_ he said sternly. _"Never destroy one of your own memories. Everything is a learning experience no matter how painful. You can't destroy everything bad that happened to you, not without destroying who you are."_

Nuri sighed and nodded, turning back to the ball. He imagined it lengthening and worked at it with his hands until it became a half inch thick strand. He walked up to one of the trees and pushed it into one of the furrows, making sure it was completely buried before stepping back to look at it. If someone knew what to look for they would see a slight sheen and change in colour, but otherwise the memory blended into the bark as if it weren't there.

_"__Good. That seems to be an effective method of storage. It will take a lot of time to organise all these thoughts and you will have to endeavor to remember where the memories are. It will be fairly easy since you can simply touch one of the memories to access it, but it would be far easier to just make your way to a particular tree instead of touching every one to find out what it is,"_ Ohin said.

Nuri murmured his assent, swaying on the spot as he felt his fatigue hit him. The exercises had exhausted him and he hoped that his aabbe would be willing to let him nap later before his evening lessons.

_"__I think we are done for the day,"_ the elder man said, a trace of amusement in his tone. _"I want you to continue practising reaching this place and organising all of these thoughts until the floor is free of them. It is much easier to leave this place than to enter it your first time. Simply follow one of your thoughts out the same way you followed it in."_

Focusing as hard as he could Nuri soon felt one of his thoughts and grabbed onto it. It was just as slippery as it had been before, but it was beneficial since he just slid his way out. He soon fond himself back on the dirt floor of the mahogany copse. The movement of the sun indicated that it had been several hours since they started their lesson. Nuri slowly stood and bowed to his mentor before straightening himself and making his way back to the manor. He was definitely going to beg his aabbe for a nap.

* * *

**A/N:** The physical aspect of Occlumency was inspired by Mastermind Hunting, a fabulously fun story with a brilliant!Harry. His was very different, but I figured I'd give credit for the inspiration all the same.


	13. Being Owned By Samir

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-). The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

_"__Somali"_  
**"****Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**April 1988**

Two figures stood under the hot sun in a pit of sand. The elder of the two had long, streaming white hair with simplistic clothing, while the younger was clad in a richly embroidered green tunic and matching green pants. While most days the sand pit was used for drills, today it was empty so that the boy could practise his potentially volatile magics without distractions or interference. The sand itself would keep any accidents from getting too out of control.

The boy sat on a straw mat in the sand as the elder stood to the side, talking to him.

_"__Just as you've been practising, Nuri. Reach your core and I will guide you from there,"_ the ancient man instructed.

Nuri closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of the air passing through his nose. He turned his attention inwards, tracing the strings of magic he could feel running through his body. He followed them until he reached his core, a familiar ball of green strings with red, gold strands and one thick black one running through it. Keeping his attention trained on his magics, he nodded to indicate that he had reached his destination. Distantly he could hear the Elder's voice, although it sounded as if it was in another room from him.

_"__Good. Now locate and focus on the red and gold strands, bringing those to the fore. Keep pulling at them until they dominate your core."_

Ignoring the green strands, Nuri focused on the red and gold he could see. He imaged that he was pulling at them with his hands, untangling them from the green strings. He was startled when the strands started to thrash and fight against them but he just redoubled his efforts and forced them to obey.

_"__Pull it forward until you can feel it running through you,"_ a voice drifted into his consciousness._ "Pay attention and memorise this feeling. You will need to be able to recognise it and evoke it in a matter of seconds."_

Nuri could feel the red and gold magic pulsing through him. Where the green strands felt cool and familiar and the black strand slimy, this burned him from the inside out.

_"__Now I want you to pull back out. Let the strands go and pull your attention back to me."_

Reluctantly, Nuri let the magic go and it snapped back into place, a few flashes dominated by green. He noticed that he felt cleaner, as if some of the impurities in the body had been burned away by the magics. He opened his eyes and saw Ohin looking down at him impassively.

_"__You back with the living now?"_ he asked, one eyebrow raised. Before Nuri could respond he continued, _"Now I want you to focus on the feeling you had when you pulled your red and gold magic to the fore. No, you will not be going back into a meditative state,"_ he chided when Nuri closed his eyes and began relaxing again. _"I want you to keep your eyes open and try to recreate the feeling. Once you feel it, try and shape it, try to use it to create what you want."_

Nuri nodded and picked a point in the sand several feet away where a random rock sat. He pulled his attention back into himself, but not deeply enough to locate his core. Instead, he remembered what it felt like to have the magics pulsing through him; the feeling of having his veins burned with the warm flames. He slowly felt the magics replacing his imagination, the flames licking through his torso and down his arms.

After several minutes of reveling in the feeling he began to force the burn down his arms to pool in his palms. The more that he fought it to obey his will the more it resisted. Several times the magics slipped and flashed back throughout his body, but he kept pulling it back, forcing the frustration he felt to the back of his mind.

Eventually he felt the burning settle into his hands. He could feel the magics streaming from his core, down his arms until they reached his palms. He took a second before deciding to try to shape the magics into a single flame in his palm. He placed his hands together, focusing on pulling the magic out of them and imagining it forming a flame. His concentration slipped when he saw a spark flash and then redoubled his efforts. After what felt like an eon a tiny flame finally flickered to life, no larger than an acorn. Unfortunately, as soon as he had it fully formed it winked out.

_"__Excellent work. You came further than I expected you to,"_ Ohin said, a bit too cheerfully for Nuri's tastes._ "I think that'll be it for today. I imagine you are going to feel quite tired now."_

Nuri attempted to lever himself to his feet but as soon as he stood his legs collapsed underneath him. He could feel the beads of sweat dripping down from his forehead where they had formed during the exercise. He scowled at Ohin who simply laughed at him.

* * *

**June 1988**

"We have a problem," Idris began without preamble. He had called Nuri into his study early that morning, interrupting his lessons with Mujahid and saving him from what would likely have been a brutal morning.

Nuri stood standing in front of his aabbe's desk, hands clasped behind him. He had a feeling that this was not a pleasure visit so he didn't want to show disrespect by sitting without permission.

"A rebellion has sprung up in Chaaribe, about 30 kilometres north up the Webi Shabeelle. From the intelligence I've received, I suspect that a few people have stirred up problems within the village and have convinced the others to follow along, either voluntarily or by force," Idris said, sitting forward and placing his elbows on the desk. "Usually I would only send in a group of soldiers to raid the village but you will instead be going with a couple officers. I do not want to destroy the village unnecessarily, so I want you to try to use your mind reading abilities to ferret out the culprits and determine whether or not the villagers were coerced. It has been several months since you began training your magic; do you think you will be able to do this?" Idris asked harshly.

Nuri took a moment to seriously consider his abilities. It was clear that lying was not an option. "I believe I am capable of what you ask. If I may, can I bring Ohin with me?"

Idris' eyes narrowed and Nuri knew that it was the wrong thing to ask. "No you may not. You will do this on your own or not at all."

"Understood, sir," Nuri said quietly, bowing his head in submission.

"Good. The other soldiers are waiting for you in the courtyard where you will proceed onto the village. These men do know of your magics so you are permitted to use it in front of them. You should be back by nightfall."

Nuri bowed, "Understood, sir. Thank you for the opportunity, sir."

He turned and walked out of the office, making his way to the courtyard where four older men stood. They appeared to range from the ages of 20 to 40, the youngest of them sneering at Nuri. One of the older men grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him and then whispered in his ear. The younger man's eyes widened as he glanced at Nuri and immediately bowed and stepped away from the boy. Nuri suspected that the man was told who he was; a good thing considering his aabbe probably wouldn't like him killing one of his officers.

The older man turned to Nuri and bowed. _"It is an honour to meet you, sir. My name is Gahiji__. We are ready to head to Chaaribe. Shall I show you to our vehicle?"_

Nuri nodded to the man and followed him to the driveway in front of the manor. A fairly nondescript car waited for them, although Nuri knew it was one of the armoured vehicles. The man who had greeted them opened the front door for him and then took the driver's seat. Nuri noticed that one of the munitions trucks was accompanying them with several soldiers in it.

'Probably for backup,' he thought, though he doubted they would need it.

They passed the time in silence, Nuri thinking about his lessons with Ohin about mind magics. He had to remain calm and collected in order to use them, so he practised the relaxing techniques he had learned. He wanted to make his aabbe proud and complete his first mission successfully.

Nuri estimated that an hour had passed before they reached the outskirts of the village. It was a little larger than the one they had raided in February, although not by much, but the greatest difference were the guards on the road at the edge of the town. The guards stopped them and indicated that they were to step out of the car. They complied, ducking underneath the guns trained on them and disarming the men.

'They obviously have had no training,' Nuri thought as he sneered at the man he held at gunpoint. The oldest officer barked at the men to make their way into the village, quietly, but the man that Nuri was guarding decided to disregard the order. He shouted, alerting the people in the village to their presence. Nuri promptly shot and killed him, silencing the yells. The shot rang out in the clearing, alerting the village just as much as the man's shouting had. Nuri quickly trained his gun on the men running out of the houses, some armed with crude AK-47s that were obviously salvaged from a swamp somewhere.

He made sure to aim to incapacitate instead of kill, shooting off round after round at the men; his aabbe had said that he wanted minimal casualties. Several minutes of yelling and chaos overtook the village before the rebels were subdued. A few men laid dead and a couple looked like they weren't far behind, but overall only a few had died.

The officers quickly lined the villagers up, separating the men, women and children and further separating the men into groups of those who had guns and those who didn't. Once finished, the officers turned and bowed to him, eliciting many confused looks from the villagers. They were used to the children being used as soldiers, but not one who garnered respect.

_"__They are ready, sir,"_ the eldest officer said.

Nuri nodded and stepped forward to the line. _"When I step in front of you, you are to look into my eyes. Anyone who does not will be killed."_

He began with the men that had been armed. He was curious about why these men had dared to oppose his aabbe and eagerly delved into the first man's eyes, searching for any thoughts and feelings related to their presence. He could feel the hate emanating off of the man and could easily read his thoughts since they were so close to the surface. Their intentions were clear; they despised his aabbe, bitter about the taxes and food they were required to pay as well as the children he had taken. They had retaken the village, but he could tell it wouldn't be enough. The man thirsted for the power he felt behind his gun and they had apparently already made plans to take over the next village over. He pulled out of the man's mind, having seen enough, and turned to one of the officers.

_"__Insurgent,"_ he said sharply. The officer nodded and pulled the man to his feet, dragging him away from the group.

Nuri continued down the line, identifying the people as 'innocent', 'forced', 'insurgent' or 'militia'. The last group was made up of children that Nuri thought would do well in the militia. By the time he was done with the last child seven men, two women and one child had been labeled 'insurgent'. Ten men and half of the children had been forced to aid the insurgents while the rest were innocent, passively obeying the ones who had them at gunpoint.

He turned to the ones he had labeled insurgents. _"You have been labeled insurgents. The Warlord has been generous and kind to your village, providing them with protection and only asking for a little payment in return and this is how you repay him? There is no excuse you can give and this treachery is punishable by death."_

He heard a couple of the villagers cry out from behind them but paid them no heed, signaling the officers to bind the insurgents and group them closely together. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on his magical core the way Ohin had taught him. He pulled on the orange and gold strands, coaxing them to come forward and flow through him. He felt the fire prickle under his skin as he imagined what he wanted it to do. He pushed his magics to obey and felt it flow down his arms and out through his hands, aimed to the insurgents. He heard one of the men yell but kept his focus on his magics, urging it to continue to stoke the small fire that had formed.

He eventually felt his power and focus wane as the shouting grew louder. Opening his eyes he was greeted with the site of an inferno surrounding the insurgents. He could see a few of them still struggling in their bonds and he smiled despite the exhaustion he could feel creeping through his body. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh filled the air, lingering on even after the fire died out. All that was left were ashes. The insurgents wouldn't even be allowed to be laid to rest.

'I wonder if there's a way to make the flames cooler,' Nuri wondered while trying to control his breathing. If there was, then he could make them burn far longer, consuming anything in its path at a slower rate effectively lengthening the punishment. As it was, it was over far to quickly for his taste.

He turned to the remaining villagers, carefully masking the exhaustion he felt. A vicious smirk made its way to his lips at the look of abject fear in their faces. _"Let this be a lesson to the rest of you,"_ he said coldly, causing a shiver to run down the spines of all those listening, even the officers._ "The Warlord has been kind, but he will not tolerate anyone that opposes him." _

He turned and headed back to the vehicle, making sure to keep his strides strong instead of stumbling. The officers herded the children destined for the militia onto the truck and they took off, headed for home. In all, Nuri estimated that the trip had taken six hours and he was looking forward to seeing his aabbe and telling him about it, as well as the long nap to follow.

* * *

It was getting deeper into the winter months, although the temperature belied it; it was balmy year around. But Nuri could see the change in the trees, the leaves changing colours and falling to the ground, forming a strange mosaic.

_"__You will be starting to learn about Charming today. The best place to learn is the forest naturally,"_ Ohin said, gesturing to the trees and nature around them.

They continued to walk until they reached a familiar clearing, one Nuri often used for meditation and that Ohin preferred for training. Nuri settled himself to the ground as usual while Ohin perched himself upon a tall stump.

Ohin seemed to pull together his thoughts before beginning again. _"Charming is a branch of magics in which people can manipulate nature around them, be it plants, animals or humans. Like all the categories, different people have different levels of control. The weaker Adepts find that they can only make suggestions and encourage nature around them to act. The strong Adepts are rumored to be able to move heaven and earth around them if it suited them._

_"__While you have a basis in fire and Destroyer magics, you can learn to perform some of the basic techniques of a Charmer. We will begin with the basics. I want you to meditate, but instead of focusing inwards on your mind or your magics I want you to push your focus and magics__ outward. Feel the trees sway and sigh around you. See if you can sense the animals in the trees and earth."_ Ohin finished and closed his eyes, obviously falling into his own meditative state.

Nuri closed his eyes and delved down into the core of his magic, easily finding the ball of strings due to all his practise. He took a moment to look at the strings as he always did, fascinated by the writhing colours flowing throughout it, before pulling on a few of the green strings and trying to stretch them out around him. His magic fought him, the green strands unused to being used in such a way, but he eventually got them to obey and he could feel his magic sweeping out around him.

The strands slid over the rocks and dirt, bumping into the plants and animals and forming a picture of the environment in Nuri's mind. 'This could be useful,' Nuri thought. 'If I kept this up nobody would be able to sneak up on me.'

He pushed the thought aside, making a mental note to ask Ohin about it later, and focused on the feel of the environment around him. He was trying to focus on the feeling of the trees around him when something slightly behind and to the right of him began to creep into his attention. He tried to brush it aside for several minutes before he began to hear wisps of a voice from the direction of the niggling. He continued to pull his focus back to the trees but the mumbling was replaced by a distinct lisping voice.

//Mother! Where are you!// a frightened voice broke through the bushes. Nuri turned around, exasperated and prepared to blast whatever new recruit had escaped camp. His jaw clicked shut and he scanned the bushes looking for the child that should be there.

_"__What is it?"_ Ohin asked. Obviously his attention was broken by the child as well.

Nuri stood up and walked amongst the plants while answering, _"A child is looking for its mother. One of the new recruits probably got lost,"_ he sneered.

//Mother!// the lisping voice cried out to his right and Nuri pivoted towards the noise.

_"__Hear that?"_ Nuri asked, scanning the trees.

Ohin gave Nuri a confused look that he didn't see, _"Hear what, child? I hear nothing."_

Nuri gave an exasperated huff and scavenged through the bushes. He pushed fronds and branches out of his way as he stepped through the undergrowth looking for the child. He used his senses to pinpoint the location of the crying voice and stepped up to a particularly large outcropping of undergrowth, ready to blast the errant recruit. He quickly pulled the branches aside and saw... a snake? He looked left and right, looking for a recruit and ignoring the small snake.

//Get away from me! I'll bite you!!// a small voice lisped out from the ground, sounding fierce despite the fear behind his tone.

Nuri looked down and saw the snake rearing back, ready to strike.

//What?// Nuri asked in oddly sibilant tones, slightly startled by the sounds. //Are you... talking to me?// He ignored the sharp intake of breath from behind him.

//You can speak? Who are you? Where is my mother!// the snake said, not waiting for an answer to any of its questions and becoming more and more frantic.

Nuri kneeled down on the ground. //I know nothing of your mother. Are you lost?// He swore that the snake gave him a dirty look at the question.

//That should be obvious,// the snake said sarcastically.

Nuri did his best to not sneer at the small creature. //What are you?//

//I am a boy.//

Nuri refrained from sighing, //No, what kind of snake are you?//

The snake looked at him, perplexed. //I am me. What else would I be?//

Nuri reigned in his irritation. //What are you called?//

The snake gave him a queer look. //How would I know what your kind calls me? I am me and you are you.//

Nuri rolled his eyes, unable to hide his exasperation. //Fine.//

The snake began to circle him, appearing to size him up. //You'll do,// he said before slithering up his leg.

//I'll do for what?// he asked, unsure of what do do about the snake making its way up his body.

The snake curled itself around his upper arm, his head inches away from Nuri's face. //What else? It's a privilege to belong to one of my kind. My mother once had her own caretaker before he was killed.// The little snake rested its head on Nuri's shoulder, ignoring his affronted look.

//Owned by you??//

The little snake hissed at him, //Let me sleep, young one.//

//Young!// he said, affronted. //At least tell me your name,// he demanded.

The snake peered at him from his spot resting on Nuri's shoulder. //It is Samir. Now let me sleep.//

Nuri turned to Ohin. _"This little... creature seems to think he owns me!"_

Ohin cocked one eyebrow at him. _"Child, you do realise you were speaking neither Somali, Arabic nor English, right?"_

Nuri furrowed his eyebrows. _"I wasn't? It sounded like Somali to me... what was I speaking?"_

_"__You appear to be a Beastspeaker, and an unusual one at that. I have never heard of a snake speaker before. There are snake charmers, but no Beastspeakers."_

_"__I am a Beastspeaker?"_ Nuri asked, confusion bleeding into his voice._ "But... I thought only Charmers spoke to animals."_

Ohin ran his fingers through the ends of his beard, _"I thought so as well. If you weren't such a strong fire elemental I would say you were a Charmer. I'm going to have to consult the other Elders in the other sects; maybe they know something. Regardless, it looks like we will have to train you further in Charming than I was originally planning. But,"_ Ohin clapped, smiling. _"Did the little creature tell you anything about itself?"_

_"__When I asked him what he was, he simply answered, 'I am me.'"_ Nuri said, irritated at the little snake's cheek.

Ohin laughed, _"So the little one has a sense of humor. Well, I had a companion when I was younger who was a snake charmer so he taught me a little bit about the native snakes. This one is simply known as a Tree Snake, aptly named since they are arboreal. They are highly venomous, although it is slow acting. Based on its colouring, this one appears to be just a hatchling. After a few years it will become green with black stripes between each segment. They eat mainly reptiles and frogs, but will also eat small mammals, birds and eggs._

_"__I am guessing that this little one decided to be your familiar?"_

Nuri snorted, _"More like it decided it owned me."_

_"__Well that's an interesting way to put it,"_ Ohin mused, folding his hands in front of him._ "But yes, I'm guessing it decided to be your familiar. I didn't expect to have to address this so quickly, but I guess a change in lesson plans is due for today. Some Adepts take on familiars, although Charmers do it far more frequently than any other and every Beastspeaker I've ever known has had one, for obvious reasons._

_"__The more often you interact with your familiar, the greater the bond you will have. Some of the strongest bonds are said to be telepathic and the Adept always knew where their familiar was. More often than that an Adept can feel what their familiar does and vice versa, according to the Beastspeakers. Beyond that the bonds are highly variable. Some familiars have been able to take upon some of the pain their Adept feels in order to lessen the intensity of it. Sometimes, if the familiar is magical, the Adept and their familiar can share each other's magic in times of need or even special gifts; again this requires a strong bond."_

Nuri nodded, looking back at Samir and taking him in. He had originally been so shocked and then distracted by talking to the snake that he hadn't really looked at him closely. The little snake was greyish with blue speckles and Nuri couldn't see how he would eventually become green. Its back looked unlike any other snake he had seen, even though that wasn't very many. It was flat instead of rounded with what were almost ridges. Overall, it was a very unusual looking snake.

_"__Well,"_ Ohin said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. _"I think that is enough excitement for today! I want you to continue practising your meditation, focusing on pushing your attention and magic outwards instead of in. We will be going over the ritual for bonding your familiar tomorrow."_

Nodding, Nuri carefully stood and bowed to the Elder in order not to disturb the sleeping snake. He couldn't wait to show him to his aabbe.

* * *

**Gahiji****:** African; Hunter, seeker

**Samir:** Arabic; companion in evening talk

**A/N: **Cookies to anyone who can figure out what sort of snake Nuri's familiar is. It _can_ be found in the southern part of Somalia, although it isn't its dominant territory.

Chaaribe is a town I made up. Again, I wouldn't want Idris owning and raiding a real village... it just seems wrong. The Webi Shabeelle is a real river though.


	14. Happy Birthday, Nuri!

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this. The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**July 31****st,**** 1988**

_"__Happy Birthday, my son,"_ Idris said warmly, greeting Nuri at the door of the dining room at breakfast.

Nuri smiled, a sight that had become rarer as of late. _"Thank you, Father."_ He followed his aabbe to the table and dished up some mishaari into his bowl. They passed the meal in silence, as was usual. When the plates had been cleared Idris propped his elbows up on the table and began to speak.

_"__I have decided that in celebration of your 8__th__ birthday you will have the day off of your lessons. You have been working very hard and I have heard good things from your magic teacher."_ Idris smiled when a glimpse of pride crossed Nuri's face. _"I will be taking the day off to spend with you."_

Nuri couldn't stop the smile from splitting his face. _"What will we be doing today, Father?" _he asked.

_"__Well, I thought you would like to go to London today. We could sight see and then we'll take care of an important errand."_

Nuri looked at his aabbe, confused. _"Errand? I thought you were taking the day off?"_ He was careful to keep any note of disappointment out of his voice. He knew his aabbe would not be very understanding of such a breech of conduct.

_"__Indeed I am, but this errand is both business and pleasure,"_ Idris said, amused by the look of confusion that crossed Nuri's face. 'He'll have to work more on masking his emotions,' he thought. While it was acceptable to be somewhat emotive in private, it was not acceptable in any public setting. _"It has been two years and two months since you came here and your uncle has yet to pay off his debt. The idiot hasn't moved, so we're going to be going to collect."_

Another smile crept across Nuri's face, albeit one most people would find disturbing. He couldn't think of a better birthday present than vengeance on his abusive relatives.

* * *

A limousine pulled up in front of Number 4 Privet Drive the evening of July the 31st. Several dark figures stepped out, most noticeably a well dressed man with a thick scar running down his face and a child who stood next to him. A few of the neighbors recognized the people as those who had visited two years before; their skin and method of transportation were unusual enough that it stuck into the neighbors' memories. If anyone had thought to ask the neighbors, they would have been able to tell them about the visitors, but nobody did.

Nuri was excited and only his training, not to mention a few sharp reminders from his aabbe, kept him from bouncing. He had spent a wonderful day with his aabbe touring London and its outskirts, but he was greatly looking forward to this visit. Who would have thought that he would ever look forward to seeing his relatives?

Idris had made sure to time their visit so that they would arrive after the elder Dursley came home from work. It wouldn't do to not have the entire family there after all. One of the guards stepped forward and rang the doorbell.

The group of people could hear heavy footsteps on the other side of the door before it was opened by a short whale with a blond mop on its head.

The butterball's eyes widened and he yelled, "Dad! Some black men are at the door!"

Idris raised an eyebrow at the uncouth child. Not only was he morbidly obese, but his parents had obviously never taught him manners. Then again, he wasn't surprised given what he had witnessed two years prior. Yes, he definitely was going to enjoy this.

A larger version of the butterball, if that was possible, made his way to the door, his face drastically paling out as he caught view of the visitors. "Dudley, go to your room," he said shortly.

"But..."

"Go to your room!" the eldest Dursley barked.

"I don't think that will be necessary Dursley," Idris smoothly interrupted. "This should be a _family_ gathering I think. After all, I brought my son" Idris said, gesturing to the boy at his side.

There was little similarity between this child and the one that had been rescued two years prior. He had grown quite a bit and only looked a year younger than he should, although he would probably always be stunted due to the malnutrition he had suffered early in life. His skin had darkened in the equatorial sun and he could almost pass as having Arabian decent. The wild hair that had proclaimed him a Potter now reached his shoulder blades and the weight had tamed the chaotic locks. The only distinguishing feature that was left was his piercing green eyes.

Surprised flashed across Vernon's face followed by anger. "Boy! What are you doing here?" He took a step forward only to be blocked by two guards.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Idris said. Only those familiar with the Warlord could hear the warning in his voice. "The guards are rather protective of their Lord's heir and don't take threats well."

"Heir?" Vernon asked. He had backed off but Idris could still see the anger radiating from the morbidly obese man. "I thought you were taking the boy to be killed?"

"Killed?" Idris asked, danger etched in the lines of his face. "Why would you want _my son_ killed?"

The whale stuttered for a few minutes, unsure of what to answer. Idris couldn't help but smile at the fear that began creeping across the blond man's face.

"Shall we come in?" Idris asked, carefully keeping his face neutral.

Vernon shook his head, his body belying his desires, but common sense won out and he gestured for the men to come in.

"Petunia!" Vernon yelled, the anxiety blatantly obvious in his tone. A tall, horse-faced woman stepped though the door that Nuri knew led to the kitchen. She had been wiping her hands on the garish apron she wore but quickly dropped it at the sight of their visitors. "Could you please bring some tea to the living room for our guests?" he asked, his voice strained. The woman nodded dumbly and left to presumably get tea while Vernon escorted their guests into the 'sitting room'.

Nuri remembered how enamored he had been by the Dursleys' living room. The sofa had looked plush and incredibly comfortable to the deprived child, but he had never been allowed to sit on it. Now, the room just looked tiny and gaudy. Compared to the furniture Nuri was now accustomed to, the sofas looked mundane and threadbare, certainly not the least comfortable. Compared to the cot he had slept on in the cupboard they certainly would have been heaven, but now they were just one more sign of the neglect he had suffered.

The group sat in silence while waiting for the promised beverages. Idris and Nuri took a measure of satisfaction in Vernon's nervous fidgeting. Soon, the horse faced woman brought a tray of tea and served it to the men. Nuri picked up one of the cups and took a sip. Only his extensive training kept the distaste from his face, although it didn't keep him from putting it back down. The tea was disgusting. It was a far cry from the shaah they had in Somalia.

Idris took a sip before beginning. "I'm surprised at you Dursley. I would have thought that if you were planning on reneging on your part of the bargain you would at least have moved. I certainly would have found you, but at least you could have made an attempt to evade me. I find it almost insulting."

"But-"

The Warlord continued, interrupting whatever excuse Dursley had. "It has been two years and two months since I last visited you. You have yet to pay your debt to me despite the ample time I have provided."

Vernon paled out even more, a feat which should have been impossible. "I-I... the company hasn't been doing as well as it should. I don't have the money..." he trailed off.

Idris tisked at him. "You think you would know better than to lie to me, Dursley, after all of the information I had on you last time. I was quite lenient with you and only made a deal so that I could save your darling nephew and make him my heir. But now you have nothing I want. Well," he paused looking at Nuri, "almost nothing."

"Whatever you want!" The obese man said quickly, barely keeping the stutter out of his voice.

Sitting back in his seat, Idris looked at Vernon. "Whatever I want? Well, how kind of you. It is not like you had a choice in the first place. Do you know that today is my son's birthday?" he asked. Vernon hesitantly nodded, obviously disturbed by the non-sequitur. "Well, since you are _family_," Idris drawled, lacing his words with sarcasm, "I have decided to give him the honor of deciding your fate." He couldn't help but be amused by the sheer number of colors Vernon's face could produce.

Vernon couldn't help but feel abject fear. He had stupidly never expected the Warlord to return, although now he couldn't figure out why, and now his fate rested with the nephew he had taken pleasure in torturing for four and a half years. The nephew that had been adopted by an undeniably ruthless Warlord.

A sinister smile crept onto Nuri's face. He had spent the entire day thinking up punishments for his _dear_ relatives and now that the time had come he wasn't sure which option to take. He inwardly shrugged and decided to wing it.

_"__I believe,"_ Nuri began, purposely slipping into Somali to disturb the Dursleys. Nothing induces fear quite like the unknown. _"I should take this opportunity to practice my magics. What do you think, sir?"_

Idris smiled, amused at his son's antics. "I think that is a brilliant idea, son," he smoothly replied, enjoying the fear radiating off the Dursleys. He signaled the guards to restrain them and sat back to watch the show.

The Dursleys were quite compliant, but somehow that wasn't surprising since they had a multitude of weapons aimed at them, not to mention the guards physically restraining them.

Nuri stood and stepped over to the walls, planting his hands on the surface and closing his eyes. He gathered his magics and centered them in his hands before pushing it out through the walls. The other people in the room watched as a green sparkle spread out from his hands and ran along the wall, circling the room until it was encased in green. The floor, ceiling and all four walls glowed a bright green before fading away. Nuri nodded, satisfied that anyone outside of the room wouldn't be able to hear anything from within it. He expected that there would be a lot of screaming before the night was done.

Nuri turned around and positioned himself in front of his relatives. "Aunt. Uncle. I have learned something interesting in the last two years, something I think you have deliberately kept from me." He paused, holding out his hand in front of him, palm up, and conjured a small flame. "I remember the tender treatment I received whenever something strange would happen. I remember how you would react whenever anyone said anything about _magic_," he said, emphasizing the word and enjoying the flinch it incited in the Dursleys.

"Magic," Nuri drawled. "It is interesting how you denied its existence for five years yet, amazingly, I have a lot of it. I have been training my magics for the last six months, thanks to my aabbe. Since you were so kind to me, I think you would enjoy a demonstration." He smirked wickedly, sending shudders down the elder Dursleys' spines.

Nuri lifted his hand in front of his face and blew lightly on the flame. It left his hand, drifting over to the horse faced woman who struggled in her captors' grip. No matter how much she fought, she wasn't able to stop the small flame from reaching her. She began screaming as it disappeared into her chest.

None of the people present could see what was wrong with her, but Nuri knew. He knew that the flames were burning their way through her nervous system, although he was careful to keep them away from her brain. It wouldn't do to have her mind fried before she could fully enjoy her punishment. He had figured out how to make the fire burn cooler and he made sure it crept down her nerves instead of raging into an inferno the way the fire wanted.

The fire burned her from the inside out before it finally made its way to her muscles and skin. Despite everything they had seen, even the guards were unnerved by the way the woman seemed to be shrinking into herself, not to mention the odor. The smell of burnt flesh was not a pleasant one.

Nuri could faintly hear Dudley crying and his uncle blubbering and begging, but he tuned them out so he could enjoy the sight. The flames ate away at her muscles and she was shriveling up. Her skin began melting under the heat, a truly disturbing sight, before finally catching on fire. The guards jumped away from her, their hands sporting second degree burns. Lacking the muscles with which to hold herself up, the woman collapsed.

'Apparently I need to work more on my control. I shouldn't have burned the guards,' Nuri thought before returning his attention to his aunt. He released control on the fire and it quickly raged into an inferno, engulfing the screaming woman. After several long seconds she finally succumbed to the flames, leaving a charred corpse and the smell of burnt flesh.

Nuri turned his attention back to the scene in the living room and smiled at the controlled chaos. Vernon was ignoring the guns pointed at him and it took four guards to keep him subdued.

"You fucking little whore!" the obese man screamed, rounding on Nuri. His face was bright red and spittle was flying everywhere. "We should've drowned you when we found you at our fucking door!"

Nuri raised an eyebrow at the man, unconsciously mimicking his aabbe. He decided to forgo speaking to the man who would obviously be deaf to anything he said. Instead, he concentrated on the man's clothing, willing it to heat up. The man's tirade was cut off by his clothing bursting into flames. The guards jumped away, wary of what happened to the ones holding onto the woman whose charred corpse laid on the ground six feet away.

Vernon failed, ripping at his clothing. Nuri was disgusted by the man's corpulence; each piece of clothing ripped off displayed more rolls of fat. How could one man get so obese?

Despite finally removing all of his clothes, much to the Somalis' displeasure, it was too late. The fat that covered the man ended up being his demise. It turned out to be good fuel for the flames and Nuri found that he didn't have to use nearly as much of his magics to keep it going; he only had to control it, which was hard enough it itself. The fire burned hot and without control it would have eaten away at the man far too quickly.

While the flames ate Petunia from the inside out, Nuri decided to have them eat his dear uncle from the outside in. The fire burned through the fat and through his muscles before reaching the viscera and nervous system. Nuri made sure to keep him alive until the flames finally crept up his spine and melted his brain. He took a sick sort of pleasure in making sure that the majority of the bones remained intact. While he could have just turned the bodies to ash, he found it far more satisfying to leave some sort of macabre tribute to his family.

Nuri felt a heavy had land on his shoulder and turned to look at his aabbe. _"Good job, son. Now, what are you going to do about the miniature whale?"_ Idris asked, gesturing to his blubbering cousin. The boy had descended into hysterics and kept babbling nonsense as tears and snot ran down his face.

He looked at his cousin and sized him up. _"He is still a child,"_ Nuri began, speaking slowly as he formed his thoughts. _"Despite how cruel he could be, it is not his fault how he was raised. The Dursleys encouraged him to hurt me. He didn't know any better."_

Idris looked at Nuri, his face shuttered. _"So you would allow a bully to go without punishment?"_

_"__No. He doesn't deserve his parents' fate, but he certainly should be punished in some manner. He wouldn't survive in the militia, which would be the only way he would be of any use to us. Well, that's not true. I could use him for practice,"_ Nuri said, a small smile slipping across his face.

_"__Practice?"_

_"__Yes. Ohin has been teaching me how to manipulate other people's thoughts and memories. Unless we wanted trouble, we can't let him remember us being here."_

"_I can see your point,"_ Idris conceded, scratching his chin. _"While not blameless, he certainly deserves some leniency for his age. And you're right; it would be best if he didn't remember us being here. It sounds perfect."_

Nuri hid the smile that threatened to break out across his face and instead turned to his sniveling cousin. He stepped up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.

The two boys remained motionless for several long minutes before Nuri straightened himself and looked at his aabbe. "Hmm... that did not go quite as planned."

Idris raised his eyebrow, "What do you mean by that?" A movement caught his eye and he looked down at the obese child who appeared to be attempting to stick his foot in his mouth.

_"__Well,"_ Nuri began, slipping into Somali so that the guards would understand him. _"It appears that I need more practice. Instead of removing a few memories, I seem to have erased the last six years worth and fried his brain in the process..."_ He attempted to look repentant, but failed miserably.

Idris could hear the snickers coming from the guards around them and observed the drooling child who was now sucking on his thumb, unable to reach his toes. _"Well, he certainly won't be able to tell anyone about us now. I think you might want to work on that,"_ he drawled causing the guards to lose their control and burst out into laughter.

* * *

It had already been a long day for Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. While the professors and students had the majority of their summer off, the Headmaster had no such respite. There was always something to do, the majority of which was paperwork which his desk was currently hidden under.

He had just sat down to begin on the mound of papers when a high pitched wail sounded from one of his bookshelves. He stood up far too quickly for a man his age and reached the offending instrument responsible for such a racket. A small, hollow glass ball with a stylized HP etched on its surface had black and red clouds swirling chaotically within it. Albus' eyes widened and fear flooded his senses. He spun around and hit one of the many buttons that could be found under the ledge of his desk. It was the one that called the inner members of the Order of the Phoenix. Ten long minutes later nearly all of the people had arrived.

"What is this about, Albus?" a disfigured old man with a gravelly voice demanded.

Albus rubbed his temple and turned to address the group, "We have a problem. Ten minutes ago the instrument I have tuned to the wards at Harry Potter's house went off. It could mean several things, none of which are good. I need a group of people to come with me to the house to see what happened."

After a bit of arguing Albus left with Minerva, Kingsley, Remus and Severus, the latter being the most reticent. The group hurried to the edge of Hogwarts' wards and apparated to the alley behind Mrs. Figg's house, a squib that lived on Privet Drive. Wands in hand, the five of them crept up to Number 4. There was no obvious foul play, but they didn't want to alert anyone that might be there. A quick _Alohamora_ later they slinked through the house, splitting up to look through the rooms.

A piercing scream sounded through the house and everyone ran to the living room, ready to defend an attack. They were stopped short by the scene. On the floor was one charred body and another pile of, something that vaguely appeared to be bones. An obese child sat next to the bodies, alternately crying and sucking on his thumb.

"Check the rest of the house for Harry!" Albus ordered, carefully approaching the remains.

Fifteen minutes later everyone was gathered back in the living room. The green eyed child was no where to be found. While the other people stood around arguing with each other, Severus took the opportunity to evaluate their surroundings.

As a spy he had learned that even the most minute detail could be important to one's survival. He looked at the pictures lining the mantle and the walls. Most of them were of the fat child currently sniveling in the living room. In other pictures a horse faced woman with a larger version of the child stared out from the photo. But no where was there a picture of the green eyed, black haired child of his schoolyard enemy.

Severus searched to see if he could find any evidence of the child's existence in the house. A toy, some clothing, anything. The master bedroom had nothing; neither did the bedroom of the child downstairs, obvious by the size of the clothing littering the floor. The third, and last, bedroom contained only broken toys and torn books. There was no bed nor any clothing to be found. He searched all of the closets and hallways, looking for some trace of the child.

Eventually the tall dark man came upon the cupboard under the stairs. Expecting cleaning supplies and the like, he was startled to find a small cot with a rotting blanket. Behind the cot there were a couple broken toys hidden underneath several dirty, torn shirts and trousers of various sizes. Whomever had lived there obviously hadn't been there for a while, as evidenced by the layer of dust covering the cot.

Now Severus was familiar with abuse. He had experienced it as a child and the majority of the abused children in Hogwarts ended up in his house, but never had he seen living conditions quite like this. While in the wizarding world parents could be vicious in the treatment of their children, it was unheard of for them to not be cared for. Children were important in a society as small as theirs.

The cupboard was tiny and disgusting. A child over the age of two wouldn't be able to live there comfortably. He closed the cupboard and made his way back to the living room.

He briefly considered telling the Headmaster but opted against it. The old man consistently ignored Severus' concerns about the neglect of some students, brushing it off by saying that no family was capable of such things. Besides, a spy knew it was often useful to withhold some information.

"This is disturbing," Albus said as Severus entered the room. "Severus," the old man said, turning to the tall, sallow man. "Would you be willing to look into this child's mind? I already have, but I want you to confirm my findings."

"Why doesn't the child speak for himself?" he sneered.

"Ah, well he doesn't seem able."

Severus raised an eyebrow but acquiesced. He turned to the tear streaked child and delved into his mind. The stoic man barely withheld a gasp at what he found. The child's mind was destroyed. Hell, it was annihilated. Memories floated around in shards, running into each other and breaking up into smaller pieces. There appeared to be a chunk of his mind intact, but it was far to small for a child of his age and was likely going to be ruined by the sharp debris floating around before long. Severus had never seen anything quite like this before.

Pulling back out he looked at the Headmaster. "It appears that someone has broken the child's mind," he said bluntly. "Most of his memories and personality appear to have been shattered and the pieces left are destroying each other. His condition will probably deteriorate if it is not treated. Other than that, it is probably irreparable," he said flatly.

Albus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is also what I found. It looked to me like a failed Obliviate, although I've never seen one this bad. We won't be able to get any information from him."

"What does this mean, Albus?" Remus asked, the strange whine in his voice, likely from uncertainty or indecision.

"I don't know, Remus. Traces of magic are all over this room, but its unlike any other magic I've seen. It wasn't performed using a wand. There is no distinct magical signature. The magic used feels wild and raw. I've never felt anything quite like it."

"Could it have been the Potter child?" Kingsley asked, unconsciously asking the question on Severus' mind. He wouldn't be surprised if the child had lashed out after the evidence of neglect he found.

Albus shook his head, "No. Accidental magic leaves a certain sort of residue, not to mention that it is usually immediately documented and sent to me. And there's no way a child as young as him would have the level of control necessary to perform such a feat. Not to mention he wouldn't want to hurt his family like this. No, it couldn't have been Harry."

Severus raised an eyebrow at that conclusion, choosing not to comment.

Minerva spoke up, obviously having come out of her shock of seeing the corpses, "Was it Death Eaters?"

Albus sighed, "I don't know for sure, but I can't see anyone else attacking this place, especially on Harry's birthday. If it was, it's not good news since they appear to have found some different form of magic."

"What do we do now?" Minerva asked, asking the question on everyone's mind.

"We're going to have to start searching for Harry. If it was Death Eaters, they probably haven't gone far. We'll have to call the Order together, unofficially of course. I don't want the Ministry to know or it will be all over the Prophet. No," Albus said to himself. "We can't afford that." He spent several moments in silence before coming back to himself to address the group. "You are all dismissed. We will meet tomorrow to discuss what to do next."

Severus raised an eyebrow, filing away that information before apparating away to the solitude of his rooms. These events warranted some consideration.

**

* * *

Shaah:** Tea

**Mishaari:** Similar to Italian porridge but with butter and sugar


	15. July Massacre

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-). The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

**A/N:** _Time jump!_ Pay attention to the dates people or you might get lost.

You guys are brilliant! 40 reviews last chapter! I was so inspired I just had to write more despite being in the middle of a move... well, either that or I was avoiding packing. No matter! As a bonus treat for y'all I added a silly short **إضافي **(omake in Arabic) at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**March 1989**

A group of people were gathered in the courtyard of the village the Warlord had built. The little town had expanded quite a bit since they started building it a bit more than a year ago. Many people had sought refuge within the walls of the Warlord's compound and the community flourished. Nearly the entire village had congregated that morning to watch the rite of passage of their Lord's heir and the courtyard was rather crowded. On the far side stood Idris with several of his guards. He certainly wouldn't miss such an important event.

When a child gained control over their magics and had shown a certain level of proficiency they went through their first rite of passage: scarification. Back before their people had to go into hiding the scars would be visible, traditionally on their hands or, less often, their face. But since their persecution they had taken to putting their scars in less conspicuous places.

Ohin had shown Nuri his scars, a pattern of the June sky across his back signifying his connection to nature as a Shaman. Ohin had told him that part of his back had been done for his first rite of passage while the rest had been scarred when he achieved mastery over his magics.

_"__It has been a year since we started training,"_ Ohin began. _"You have dedicated yourself to your studies and have more than proven yourself since then. You have shown an admirable level of control over your magics. As such, you have earned the right to go through your first rite of passage to become an Adept."_

Nuri was excited. He had been told about this tradition many months ago and had been practising hard to reach this point.

_"__You have chosen to be among the first to display your scars and have chosen your arms to bear them. Sit,"_ Ohin demanded.

This had also been explained to Nuri. It was easier for a person to control their dominant hand versus their non-dominant hand. As such, scarification on that arm or hand symbolised basic control over a person's magics. If he got to the point in which he could go through his second rite of passage, something that not everyone achieved, his non-dominant arm or hand would be marked to signify mastery over his magics.

In the rare case that an Adept found their familiar they were marked with the animal to symbolise their bond. Nuri chose to bear the scars on his forearm instead of hiding it under his clothing the way the elder Adepts had to.

Nuri sat in front of Ohin facing him on a bench. Samir was curled up in his lap, having insisted on coming for comfort and moral support. It helped that it was tradition for him to be there, particularly since the scar master would need to see him to create the image adequately. His right side faced the woman who was the scar master of their community.

The scars were traditionally done by women and the skill passed down in the family. The woman wasn't nearly as old as Ohin, but she still had deep lines etched into her face. Her coarse hair was mainly white peppered with grey and black strands and she wore a traditional guntiino, but instead of white or red it was black so any blood stains would not be visible; the same reason that Nuri was only clad in loose, black trousers. On her arms he could see hints of scarring extending up underneath her clothing. At their side stood a wooden table on which a set of tools, a large bowl of water and a small bowl of ash sat.

Ohin set his hands on his shoulders as a sign of reassurance and pulled him forward until he leaned against him. While he would be expected to hold as still as possible, everyone occasionally jerked from pain and usually there was more than just one person to help hold. Several people stood to the side in case assistance was needed.

While he had the option to escape the majority of the pain via meditation, Nuri chose to remain in the moment as much as he could stand. The woman picked up a flat, oval tool given to her by her grandmother. The point and edges were sharp, honed by the one blacksmith that they had in the village. As the woman began to cut into his skin Nuri winced and leaned further into his mentor. Despite the pain Nuri smiled. Each bit of pain stood for the difficulties he had gone through to gain control of his magics as well as what he will be facing in the coming years as he worked to gain mastery.

As was Ohin's right as his mentor, he had chosen the design to adorn Nuri's arm. Because Nuri was a strong fire elemental, he was to be marked with his skill. The scar master began at his shoulder, carving out the flames licking up his arm. She used a clamp like tool to lift up the thin strip of skin between her cuts and sliced it off, creating thin troughs to form the lines.

Nuri squeezed his mentors shoulder tightly with his non-dominant hand and bit hard into his lip to avoid crying out. He could feel his endorphins rush through his system and he felt almost giddy. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to completely dull the pain that wrenched through his arm.

The blood flowed down his skin and occasionally the woman would stop and use the pot of water to wash it off so that she could see. Flame layered on flame was carved into his skin, overlapping and forming a two-dimensional inferno. He could feel the woman dig into his flesh occasionally to create sparks among the fire.

He couldn't stop a low moan from escaping his lips when she lifted his arm to carve into the soft flesh underneath. He had a hard time holding his arm up so one of the onlookers came over to brace it. He relaxed his muscles as best he could and bit into Ohin's clothing, trying to stifle the scream that wanted to leap from his throat. He was only partially successful.

Once she was done with the flames she moved down to his forearm and began to outline the snake that would adorn it. Using Samir on his lap as a guide, she carved sinuous lines, wrapping the coils around his arm. The tail began on the outside of his elbow and wrapped around his arm until the head came to rest on the top side of his wrist. She used a smaller tool to outline the scales and tongue, careful not to cut nearly as deep so it wouldn't keloid the way the rest of the scars would.

After three hours of carving the woman washed his arm once more and stood up. Ohin rose from his seat and took her place, reaching for the bowl of ash on the table next to him. He picked up some ash with his fingers and pressed it into Nuri's wounds, packing them completely. The ash would aggravate the wounds and his body would do its best to push it out, causing the scars to thicken more than they originally would. It was a mark of pride to allow the wounds to heal naturally instead of the Healers tending to them, but Ohin would be making sure they scarred thickly and evenly, or, in the case of the scales, lightly. Nuri's skin was unlike their own and was less prone to forming keloids.

When they finally finished everyone in the courtyard began cheering and came up to them to offer their congratulations. However, out of all of the praise Nuri received, the approval from his aabbe was worth the most.

"Congratulations, son," Idris said, slipping into English so that the people around them would not understand. "You have worked hard and made me proud."

Nuri gave a bright smile, one that normally only his aabbe saw and said, "Thank you, father. That means the world to me."

Idris nodded and turned to the group, _"Let us celebrate!"_

Another cheer went up and everyone turned to the feast that had been laid out for the event. The party promised to last well into the night.

//He is right, child. You did well,// Samir hissed in his ear. While normally unable to understand English, the little snake had gained the skill upon bonding to his hatchling. Nuri grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned of some of the blood that had gotten on his scales. //Thanks, little snakeling.//

Nuri snorted, //You are welcome and thank you for your support.// The little snake made a noise of assent and curled up around his neck, settling down for a nap as he made his way to the feast.

* * *

**July 16****th****, 1989**

_"__What is going on, Father?"_ Nuri asked, concern evident in his voice. He hadn't ever seen his aabbe worked up in the way he was now.

_"__Barre has shown a new level of stupidity I originally wouldn't have attributed to him. An emergency meeting is to be held and you will be there,"_ Idris said shortly. Putting his jacket on and motioning for him to do the same.

_"__Yes, sir,"_ Nuri acquiesced, pulling on the jacket one of the guards handed him and following his aabbe out the door.

The passed the drive in silence and Nuri simply watched the scenery pass by. He recognised the path as the one they took whenever they went to Osei's manor for a business dinner. Every time they went he noticed more and more destruction, but today was far worse than normal. The streets were quiet. Too quiet. The only people out were ones that appeared to be collecting the bodies that littered the roads. The roads and buildings were covered in blood, having turned brown showing that it had been there for a while. Nuri had no idea what happened, but had a feeling that he would be finding out soon.

They reached Osei's manor and quickly exited their vehicle, making their way up to the door. The fact that no one was there waiting for them told Nuri just how grave the situation was. As they made their way through the lavishly decorated halls he couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence of the children and women he had gotten used to seeing around the manor. In their place were even more guards than usually occupied the manor. They made their way into a library that Nuri was unfamiliar with. In it sat far more people than he had expected. Just what was going on?

Osei stood up and greeted them, shaking Idris' hand. **"I am glad you were able to make it, Warlord."** He turned to Nuri and shook his hand as well in greeting.

**"****How could I not given what happened?"** Idris asked. His voice was flat, betraying none of the irritation Nuri had seen in privacy of their manor.

**"****Yes, yes. Please have a seat,"** he said, gesturing to one of the small couches. Nearly all of the furniture was filled with men Nuri had met over the years accompanying his aabbe to meetings and political functions. The men themselves had gotten used to Nuri's presence in the last couple years and knew to treat him as one of their own. Their guards lined the room and stood watch at the door. A couple servants were rushing around, offering shaah and cognac. Overall, the room was rather cramped.

**"****Let us get down to business,"** Osei began. **"Just to make sure we're all on the same page I will be reviewing the events of the last week. A week ago on the 9****th ****Salvador Columbo, a Roman-Catholic Bishop, was gunned down in front of his church. In theory this is unrelated to the later killings, but I know people are blaming Barre because Columbo was very outspoken in his opposition of the government and he was well liked.**

**"****Two days ago on the 14****th**** the Duub Cas killed around _450 _Muslims demonstrating against the arrest of their religious leaders. They estimate that over 2000 were injured."**

Osei had to pause due to the shouts of outrage sounding around the room. Nuri himself was gaping. The Duub Cas were President Barre's special forces; his body guards and mercenaries.

'They are no better than the mooryan,' Nuri spat to himself. 'How could Barre order such a massacre?'

**"****There's more than that,"** Osei practically shouted to be heard. He continued once everyone had quieted. **"Yesterday Barre ordered the execution of 47 people, mainly from the Isaaq clan. They were executed on Jasiira beach. I have yet to get an answer as to what charges were brought against them."**

The exclamations reached a fever pitch. Nuri himself was shouting in outrage but was quickly quieted by his aabbe who had remained collected despite the horrifying information.

**"****Silence!"** one of the guards ordered at Idris' signal. The men immediately quieted and looked to Idris.

**"****What are the citizen's reactions to this?"** Idris asked.

**"****They vary,"** the man Nuri recognised as Ameer began. **"The Roman-Catholics are enraged since they believe that their Bishop was assassinated by the President's people. The Muslims are rightfully furious, as are many of the people in Mogadishu since their families were caught in the cross fire. Unsurprisingly, Habr Gidr are supporting Barre. The rest appear neutral, not wanting to put themselves or their families in danger."**

**"****There is no way the international community is going to ignore this!"** someone exclaimed.

**"****No,"** Idris began. **"They're not. We have already lost US support-"**

**"****Shit!"** Zuberi interrupted. He always had been a bit hot headed. **"They're righteous enough that they're likely to interfere now!"**

Idris glared at him for his interruption. **"Have they already released a statement?"**

Osei shook his head, **"No. They're just beginning to make noise. I don't think this is enough for them to interfere, but I think they will if much more happens."**

Idris shook his head, **"We're going to have to worry about that when it comes. What about the Isaaq clan? How are they reacting?"**

**"****They are furious. They are demanding to know what the charges against their people were. Unfortunately for them, the majority of their clan is up north, so unless they wanted to make a mass move, which would likely incite a civil war, they have their hands tied,"** Osei sighed.

**"****So what are we going to do?"** Ameer asked.

Everyone looked at Idris who took a moment to think before answering slowly. **"It is obvious that we will have to pull our support from Barre. This isn't going to be ignored and he probably gained far too many enemies. I don't even want to think what the UN and the US might do in reaction to this. No, we cannot support Barre any longer.**

**"****With how many people are likely to revolt at this point we're going to have to protect ourselves. We need to up our militia training."** Idris turned to address one of his guards, **"Tomorrow arrange for the militia to go out and pick up more recruits."**

The man bowed, **"As you will it, Warlord."**

Idris turned back to the group, **"We're going to have to keep our eyes and ears open on this, particularly overseas. I want to know immediately if anyone is planning action against our country. We need to be ready."

* * *

إضافي**

A tall, pale, rather pointy blond man walked into the library of the Warlord's manor. "Nice, nice. Certainly better than the Malfoy Manor. It seems like I'll be choosing well."

_"__Who the hell are you?? And how the hell did you get past the guards!"_ Nuri barked, jumping up from the couch where he was reading.

"I'm sorry, what? I haven't learned Somali yet," The pointy man replied.

"Who. The. Hell. Are. You??" Nuri replied, speaking slowly, enunciating the words in a way that suggested he thought him slow.

The man gave a look of disgust. "I'm English, not American. However, my name is Draco, your future lover at your service" the man said, bowing with flourish.

"But, you're so big!" Nuri said with wide eyes, looking all of his eight years.

Draco shrugged, "Yea, I know at least compared to you runt. I'm not supposed to come into the story until we're 16, but the readers were rather impatient."

"Oh," Nuri said simply.

"Well," Draco scratched his head and looked around the room. "You're obviously not big enough for what we _will_ be getting up to soo.... want a piggy back ride?"

Nuri squealed and jumped up from his seat, leaping up onto Draco's back. They pranced around the room for several minutes before Draco plopped Nuri back down onto the couch.

"Well, I hope that's enough to satisfy the readers. I'll see ya in eight years!"

"Bye Draco!"

"Bye, runt."

* * *

**Guntiino:** A traditional Somali full-length dress, similar to an Indian sari but made of simple white or red cotton.

**Duub Cas **(Red Berets)**: **Siad Barre's special forces.

**Mooryan:** Gunmen who lived for rice and khat. Belonged to the private armies of rich men.

**Habr Gidr:** Siad Barre's clan.

**A/N:** Scarification. Yup, truly happens as a rite of passage in many tribes throughout Africa. Not popular in more 'western' areas, but still important in many traditions. I have seen it become popular in the more extreme sects of body art in the western world, something I seriously disagree with for various reasons. But that is neither here nor there.

The July Massacre. This section was probably boring, but necessary in its own right. It's the beginning of the end for Barre's regime. Disgusting truly, for obvious reasons. Again, really happened... I couldn't find much more on it other than the dates themselves no matter how much I searched so _everything_ I wrote about other people's reactions are from my own mind.


	16. Resolution 794: The Beginning

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this. The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

**A/N:** Pay attention to the dates here people. There's a time jump of a year and a few months in the middle of this chapter.

I have very little knowledge about what happened at the attack on the port and airport of Mogadishu other than the fact it happened and why it happened. I wasn't able to find anything about casualties so I assume there were none on the US/UN side considering they tend to highly publicize their deaths, but there probably were casualties on the Somali side. Thusly, everything I wrote about the attack other than the fact that it occurred is fiction. The leaflets, however, are true. Something to keep in mind.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**August 1991**

Severus Snape hated this time of year. It was two weeks until school started again and a new set of brats was matriculated for the sole purpose of making his life miserable. Because he was Head of Slytherin, he had to come back early to take care of administrative paperwork and the like, something he abhorred, second only to his hatred of children. The only bright side this year was that the Potter brat still hadn't been found and thusly would not be joining the first years.

He was getting rather sick of the slew of meetings the Headmaster was calling this year and yet again found himself ensconced in the man's office with the other Heads and no brandy in sight. Severus declined the proffered tea and sat in one of the gaudy chairs the Headmaster conjured. The chair was plush, no doubt about that, but it was also bright purple and had yellow suns on it. In his stoic, old fashioned black robes, Severus looked quite strange against the purple monstrosity.

The Headmaster himself was wearing blue robes with all sorts of fish swimming around on it. While odd looking in itself, he didn't have a horrific chair to frame him; he had his basic black leather armchair. At least the robes weren't painful to look at this time.

"Minerva, how are the new first years looking?" the Headmaster asked, sipping at his tea.

"Nearly all of them have responded with only three declines. Of those, one will be home schooled and the other two will be attending Durmstrang. All of those that failed to respond were visited. As per usual, they were all Muggleborns and most of them had thought the letters a prank. From that group we received one more decline," Minerva said tersely. She was always rather tired and cranky this time of year with all of the work she had to do as Deputy Headmistress. Severus certainly didn't envy her.

"Good, good," Albus said, leaning back in his leather chair. Why he got to sit in the normal chair while the rest of them sat in the gaudy ones Severus would never know.

"Did any of the children have to be removed?" the Headmaster asked, obviously wary of the answer.

Minerva nodded shortly. "Only two this year. Hannah Abbott and Anthony Goldstein. The Ministry was informed and took over their guardianship. The children were sent to the Rosen orphanage off Diagon Alley."

Albus shook his head wearily and Severus repressed a snort. The Headmaster never able to understand how cruel parents could be to their children.

"And what about Harry?" Albus asked, ignoring Severus' sneer.

Minerva shook her head, "Every owl I have sent out has returned unanswered. I placed a tracking charm on the last owl I sent and it simply flew around Hogsmeade before coming back."

The Headmaster sighed and rubbed at his eyes, looking all his 115 odd years. It was a look Severus had seen much more frequently in the last three years since the Potter brat went missing.

"Have you found nothing?" Filius Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw, inquired.

Albus shook his head, "No, we haven't. We have searched throughout Scotland and England and have found no trace of him."

"Have you thought of expanding the search to include other countries?" Pomona Sprout asked. She was the Head of Hufflepuff and Severus found her to be deceptively cunning. She tended to putter around her gardens, but sometimes she would act far more Slytherin than Hufflepuff, particularly when defending her students. There was a reason very few Hufflepuffs ever got into serious trouble.

"We have begun the process," Albus answered. "I have sent inquiries to the magical Ministries of all the European countries as well as to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The Headmasters from the other schools should let us know if Harry has enrolled elsewhere."

"What about the Muggle Ministries?" Pomona asked.

Albus scratched at his chin, "I had not thought of that."

"Why are you wasting your time?" Severus drawled, ignoring the nasty glare he received from Minerva at his question.

The Headmaster sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He must be found and brought here for his education, just like his parents would have wanted."

Severus sneered, "He may be the... s_avior_... but that doesn't mean he should receive any special treatment. Many students written in Hogwarts' book have gone missing in the past and you haven't searched for them."

"Now Severus, don't start with that. The boy is not his father after all," Albus admonished. He began talking again, but it almost sounded like he was speaking to himself. "No, he _must_ be found... he must be found."

Severus raised one shaped eyebrow, "And why is that, Albus?"

The Headmaster shook his head and smiled brightly, wiping the concern from his face, "It's nothing, my dear boy. So, Filius, how is your syllabus this year?"

Severus tuned out the small man's reply, reflecting on the Headmaster's behavior. His insistence on finding one boy was suspicious, particularly because of how emphatic he was about it. He knew that Albus tended to hold his cards closely to his chest and he wondered just what was so important about the Potter brat.

* * *

**UN Security Council Resolution 794 –** _December 3__rd__, 1992_

... Acting under Chapter VII of the Charter of the United Nations, authorizes the Secretary-General and Member States cooperating to implement the offer referred to in paragraph 8 above to use _all necessary means_ to establish as soon as possible a secure environment for humanitarian relief operations in Somalia ...

* * *

**December 8****th****, 1992**

_"__We have a problem."_

That was the introduction that met Nuri and the others that had joined Idris in the study for a late impromptu meeting. Nuri looked around and noticed that Idris had called in his top commanders of the militia as well as the heads of the guard.

_"__The UN has unanimously decided to take __**any means necessary**__ to bring aid to the 'starving people' of Somalia. Apparently this means taking us over by force,"_ Idris sneered. _"I won't deny that many Somalis need the aid since Aidid's people have taken it upon themselves to appropriate all the supplies that they can since Barre stepped out of office nearly two years ago. But this is still a problem."_

_"__With the UN backing the task force, there's no way we'll be able to stop this,"_ Nuri said flatly.

Idris gave his son a sharp look but nodded, _"You are right. Not only is the UN behind it, but the US is providing the majority of the soldiers."_ The other commanders seemed split. Several were grumbling and making angry remarks about the UN sticking its nose in when its not wanted, but most of the others seemed to think positively about the resolution.

Nuri looked at his aabbe intently and asked, _"What about the other clans? What do they think about this?"_

Idris sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. _"The vast majority of them are welcoming this 'intervention', saying that the UN could bring stability and hope to our country. Obviously the Habr Gidr are very unhappy about the invasion and are going to do their best to stop it. I have no doubt that Aidid is going to throw the whole weight of the Somali National Alliance behind it and cause quite a mess. I don't think the UN knows what they're getting into. None the less, we're going to endeavor to minimize our damage and losses."_

_"__So what now?"_ one of the commanders asked.

Idris sat back forward in his chair and picked up a piece of paper. _"The attacks start tomorrow and will focus on the port and airport. The soldiers were kind enough to inform us of this by littering our streets with leaflets dropped from helicopters."_ Idris passed one of the leaflets around to the gathering. It was rather plain and to the point.

Nuri raised an eyebrow at this, _"They announced their attack? You've got to be joking."_

Idris shook his head, _"They did indeed. From what I understand they're hoping to minimize civilian casualties. Regardless, we know of the attack and while we will be unable to stop it, we can prevent too many losses. I have several booths in the markets by both the port and the airport. It's too late now to prevent them from going so I want you all to assemble teams to be sent out. The objective is to assure that the supplies are safe from both soldiers and looters. Whenever possible, avoid killing the foreign soldiers. They don't take well to a loss of any of their own and we don't want to give them a reason to declare war with us. Any questions?"_

One of the commanders nodded, _"When will we be leaving, Warlord? And how many teams do you want formed?"_

_"__The attack is expected to occur around nine in the morning, so you should be in position no later than eight. All together there are three stalls near the airport and four near the port to protect so you need a minimum of seven teams. I'll leave it to you to decide how many soldiers to place in each team. I would recommend creating at least nine though,"_ Idris replied.

_"__Yes, Warlord,"_ one of the other men said.

_"__Also, do not give the soldiers any qat or brownbrown. We cannot risk an antsy child escalating the situation unnecessarily. Understood?"_ The men nodded their head._ "Good. Dismissed. Nuri, stay behind,"_ Idris commanded.

Nuri nodded and waited until all of the men had left the room. _"Yes, Father?"_

Idris leaned back in the chair, relaxing as best he could considering the situation. _"I want you to assemble a team of Adepts that have been trained in the militia and station them at the qat stall at the airport. The booth itself is one of the more permanent structures so while the other teams will be working at protecting and getting the supplies out, you'll have to keep the stall booth from being destroyed, both by the soldiers and the citizens. _

_"__From what intelligence I have received, there will be both an airborne and amphibious attack on the airport while the port will only be attacked via the water. I believe that your team should be able to help minimise the damage their helicopters do. Since he has been exposed to your magics, Mujahid will be assisting you."_ Idris leaned forward and pierced Nuri with a stare. _"Do you think you will be able to do this? Be honest. Things could go badly if you overestimate yourself,"_ he said harshly.

Nuri nodded, _"I believe I can. I have been taught well and am honored that you are trusting this to me."_

Idris looked at him for a long moment before smiling. _"I think you will do well. Do not disappoint me."_

Recognizing the dismissal Nuri stood and bowed to his aabbe before turning and leaving. He had a team to assemble.

* * *

**December 9****th****, 1992**

Nuri stood watch over one of his aabbe's stalls. As he had said, the booth was one of the more permanent structures. Its walls were formed out of concrete and were attached to the building behind the little store. There was no front wall; instead there was a stand made out of wood and aluminum sheets. The roof was similar to all the houses surrounding it, made from sheets of tin and minimally anchored to the building itself. These stands were expensive and hard to come by so its protection was imperative.

From his post Nuri kept an eye on both his team as well as the militiamen stationed around the streets. Aidid's men were jittery, their eyes bloodshot from both drugs and sleep deprivation. The majority of the soldiers wore ratty clothes and had flip flops. You could tell who the commanders were because they wore nicer clothing and had boots. All of them wore scarves that obscured their faces and strings of bullets hanging over their thin bodies.

While most of their own militia looked similar, the Adepts were treated differently as a part of the deal Idris made with Ohin. They all wore black cargo pants and jackets, their many pockets filled with cartridges, as well as black and grey scarves to cover their heads and faces. The jackets were long sleeved for the purpose of covering their scarification. They certainly weren't ashamed of their scars, but they did not want to be easily identifiable in situations like this.

Nuri had assembled a team of Adepts that had been trained in the militia during the last two years. He had chosen three Destroyers, and two Charmers, one of which was an air elemental, to join Mujahid and himself. He had considered bringing a Healer as well but they really couldn't risk losing a Healer to gunfire. They were far too useful.

It was nearly nine when Nuri first heard the beating of a helicopter's rotor. _"Get ready, they are coming. Remember: avoid killing them!"_

The Adepts watched as the black helicopters came into sight. Idris had told Nuri about these machines. They were called Black Hawks and the US had started using them in 1979. It was a highly versatile machine that had dozens of different adaptations as needed for particular uses. The most important thing, however, was the M102 howitzer that could be installed on board and mow down whole crowds of people in one sweep.

The first helicopter swept down low over the buildings, kicking up enough dust to completely obscure it from view. The wind whipped around them, tearing booths apart, pulling roofs off of the buildings and literally ripping the clothing off of women.

Nuri turned to the air elemental and shouted over the noise, _"Otieno, keep the wind from ripping the stall apart!"_

Otieno nodded and turned to face the booth, raising his arms and tilting his head up. His sleeves slipped down and Nuri could see the scars on the boy's left arm forming a complex design of lines that represented the element he controlled. While Nuri could see the wind continuing to whip around and destroy everything in the street, the air around them was relatively still, the current still fairly strong but not enough to ruin anything.

One of the Black Hawks set itself down one block from their store. Men and half naked women ran from the helicopter, abandoning their demolished stalls and dodging between the militiamen running towards the machine.

Soon the street was filled with the sounds of gunshots. Nuri signaled his team to step back and take cover in and behind the concrete walls of the booth, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be threatening their stall. They had to be particularly alert because they had been stationed at the only store on the street that sold qat, a popular drug in Somalia.

Nuri knelt down next to one of the walls and waited with the AR-15 his aabbe had gifted him cocked. He watched as the UN soldiers began fanning out and taking up key positions on the streets, gunning down the men shooting at them. Nuri was careful to keep out of their line of sight.

He watched the blood of his country men soaking the dirt street and felt his anger rise. It didn't matter that they were Aidid's men and that Nuri disagreed with them as a whole. They were Somalis and these foreigners came in presuming that they knew what was best for them?

Nuri couldn't help himself. He took aim and shot one of the soldiers in the arm, careful not to kill him. He smirked at the man's cry of pain. Served them right. Unfortunately his satisfaction was short lived as he realized his mistake when the soldiers took aim at their stall. He dove down into his magical core, taking control of his magics and sending it out until the stall the soldiers were hiding in caught fire. Needless to say they had more important things to worry about than shooting at Nuri's team.

Nuri turned to check on the Adepts and found them to be busy. They were alternating between using their magics to distract or destroy and shooting with their weapons. Mujahid was firing freely and Nuri had to snap at him to be more discriminatory of his targets. He would have to talk to his aabbe about that.

After the helicopters had left, the air elemental switched from controlling the wind around the stall to kicking up dirt around the soldiers and militiamen, effectively turning them away from their area of the street and keeping them from view. The others appeared to be using their magics to throw debris into people, pushing them away down other alleys or knocking them out completely.

Unfortunately the people of Mogadishu had begun to develop into a mob and started looting the abandoned stalls. They quickly made their way down the street before coming up on their booth. Nuri took aim at the closest one who happened to be carrying an AK-47 and shot. His superior marksmanship showed in the bullet hole that appeared in the center of the man's forehead.

They took shot after shot, trying to warn people away and killing when necessary. When there was a lull Nuri turned to the other Adepts and signaled for them to create a line of debris across the road. It took several minutes because they kept having to pause and take care of more looters or militiamen, but eventually the blockade was thick enough to block the street. The majority of it was made out of the wood and tin of the destroyed stalls, but there were also a few tires, some clothing and chunks of concrete.

Nuri paused and reached back down into his core, sending out the magics to pool in his right hand. A large, hot fireball formed and shot out of his hand towards the pile. Nuri focused on it, willing it to burn hotter and larger. By the time the fire reached the debris it had come from the size of a softball to that of a beach ball. It collided and splashed across the blockade like waves hitting rocks. Small flamelets flew along the pile, landing on pieces of rubbish and lighting them on fire. Soon the blockade formed a wall of flame hot enough that no one could go within five meters of it. The black smoke from the tires made it impossible to see through the roadblock.

The Adepts focused their attention on the other side of the street and shot at anyone who came too close. Soon the UN soldiers backed off, having successfully taken over the airport, and the militia went with them. A few groups of people were still raiding some abandoned booths but they were quickly scared off by the owners who came back to salvage whatever was left.

Nuri stood and his team followed. He ordered a few of them to stay behind to continue to protect the stall from any remaining soldiers or militiamen while he went to check in with the other commanders and see how they fared.

* * *

**Qat: **Also known as Khat. A psychostimulant produced from a plant that bears the same name. Produces stimulation similar to caffeine as well as euphoria and excitement. _The Lancet_ published a study saying it creates a pleasurable effect similar to that of Ecstasy. It is a controlled drug in nearly all countries and flat out illegal in many. Surprisingly, in the UK it is neither controlled nor illegal. Unsurprisingly, it's legal in the Netherlands.

**Otieno:** African Luo name meaning 'born at night'


	17. Declarations of War

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-). I got most of the information about the attack on the Abdi house from the book _Black Hawk Down_ by Mark Bowden. The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

**A/N:** I got the dates for the CoS and the Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban from HP Lexicon, a very useful site if I do say so myself. I'm changing how people address Idris from 'Warlord Idris' to 'Warlord Abri' because it occured to me that they would be using the last name, not the first.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts.

* * *

**29 May 1993**

**"****Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever"**

"What are we going to do Albus?" Minerva asked, the distress written all over her face was mirrored in her voice. She paced in front of the Headmaster's desk in his office, unable to sit still. Her normally tightly wound bun was loose and had strands of hair flying this way and that.

Albus sighed, leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his spectacles. The man's typical gaudy robes were absent, the deep blue colour of the fabric belying the seriousness of the situation. "I don't know, Minerva. I do not know where the Chamber is located and even if I did, I doubt I would be able to get in. Slytherin was well known for using parseltongue passwords."

"So we're just going to leave Miss Weasley to her death?" Minerva asked, her voice raising in pitch.

"I don't know what else to do. It is likely that she is already dead and even if she wasn't, I know of no way to get her," he replied, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Minerva continued pacing, ringing her hands in nervousness and frustration. "Have you contacted the Weasleys?"

"I have. They are currently in the hospital wing; Molly had to be sedated and many of the others needed Calming Draughts. Poppy decided it was best that they remain in the infirmary for the night. They were given their own room so that they can grieve in peace."

Minerva let out a rather uncharacteristic cross between a whimper and a sigh, plopping herself down in a chair and reaching for the her tea. She knew that it had been spiked with Calming Draught, but decided that she needed it all the same.

"So what now?" she asked after taking several long pulls of the tea.

Albus sighed, "The Board of Governors will likely shut down the school until we discover the culprit off all of these attacks. Thankfully Pomona just harvested the mandrakes and Severus should be done with the potion for the petrified students soon."

"That is good, but shut down? How do we find out who caused this?" Minerva shook her head, dislodging yet more hair from her coif.

Albus ran his fingers through his knotted beard, "I have an idea of who did all of this, but I have no proof behind it..."

"Who?" Minerva demanded.

"Tom Riddle. Who else?"

Minerva's eyes widened, "But... but he's dead!"

Albus shook his head sadly, "I don't think he died that night. I am not sure what happened, but I think some part of him survived somehow. Perhaps he finally found a way to come back."

"Headmaster!"

Both Minerva and Albus turned to the door that had burst open, letting in a very frazzled Potions' Master. The man's robes were open and flapping around his sides, very unusual for the habitually stoic man. The Headmaster stood, concerned; very little rattled the man, so whatever happened was serious.

"It's back," Severus bit out after slowing his breathing. Albus looked at him in confusion and he stepped quickly towards the desk, rolling up his left sleeve. "The Dark Mark. It's back."

Albus' eyes widened in horror and Minerva gasped. On Severus' arm was the infamous skull and snake, black and burning against the fair man's skin. After Voldemort's supposed death twelve years prior it had faded to a faint grey, but now it was a deep midnight black.

The Headmaster sat back down in his chair and rubbed his forehead. "Well, we have gotten our answer it seems. Tom must have used Miss Weasley somehow to come back from wherever he was. There's no way this was a coincidence." He sighed. "It seems," he began, "that we need to resurrect the Old Crowd. Severus, are you willing to take up your role once more?"

Severus, who had regained his calm, looked at the Headmaster hard before answering. "Yes, if need be," he said flatly.

"Good..." Albus said, disappearing into his own thoughts.

"But what about the school?" Minerva demanded, drawing Albus' attention back to the office.

The Headmaster placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingertips together. "We will have to close the school. The Board as well as the parents will demand to know that the school is safe before they send their children back. I'm sure the threat is gone now that Tom has achieved whatever he had set out to do, but they will insist that we search the school anyway. They will probably provide us with Aurors at least, but we will have to scour the school all the same."

Minerva still looked very upset but nodded anyway; there wasn't much more that she could say. Severus was also quiet, but probably due to being disturbed rather than any distress over the school closing. The Potions' Master discreetly downed one of the potions he kept on his person and Minerva finished her tea in silence.

**

* * *

13 July 1993**

_"__What in the __**hell**__ happened yesterday?" _Idris all but yelled at the group assembled for an emergency meeting at the Warlord's manor. _"I have been hearing many different stories, and none of them have been good." _The Warlord made an imposing picture, standing at the head table with his fists planted on the surface. His eyes burned in fury and no one in the room was brave enough to raise their eyes to meet his. The scar marring his face just added to his intimidating visage, making his face appear harsher, crueler.

Nuri was awed by his aabbe's sheer presence. When he was younger he had difficulty reconciling the aabbe he knew from their evenings and the Warlord who faced the world, but he had grown to understand; everyone put on masks as needed. Nuri had learned what masks were required of his station and he had grown familiar with his aabbe's. This particular one was the rarest but it always reminded Nuri why men feared the Warlord. The problem Nuri now had was figuring out where a mask ended and where his aabbe began. Somehow, though, it didn't really bother him all that much.

_"__My Lord, there was an attack by the UN forces,"_ Osei began with an admirably steady voice. _"They attacked the house of Abdi Hassan Awale, the man also known as Qeybdid."_

Idris looked at Osei sharply and the man flinched. _"Why would they have done that?"_

A man on the other side of the room answered hesitantly, _"They thought Aidid might be there, my Lord. They were acting on the UN's orders."_

Idris couldn't help but sneer. Two weeks previously 24 Pakistanis troops had been massacred while performing inspections on a weapons cache. The UN Security Council had been outraged and made a Resolution that called for the 'arrest and detention for prosecution, trial and punishment' of anyone involved in or responsible for the attack. This single event had changed the purpose of the troops in Somalia from one of peaceful aid to that of aggression.

Nuri could hear a low growl begin in the Warlord's throat and decided to cut in, _"Does anyone know what happened there?"_ Nuri felt his aabbe's hand land on his shoulder, squeezing painfully. His aabbe wouldn't undercut him in public without good reason, but he knew he would pay for his interruption later. He figured that it was better than the bloodshed of their allies. The men around the room, for their part, looked rather thankful for the interruption.

Osei was the one to reply, _"Young Master, one of the men at the house at the time agreed to come and speak to us."_

_"__Why would one of the Habr Gidr come to speak to us?"_ one of the other commanders asked suspiciously.

_"__I imagine Aidid is trying to drum up support for his side through this attack,"_ Idris responded, having calmed some. _"Let him in, Osei."_

The slightly balding man nodded and left the room to retrieve the man. The group waited in silence, too afraid to say anything when their Warlord was so angry.

Osei returned several minutes later with a man hobbling on crutches. The man appeared to be in his late twenties at most, but he was covered in fresh wounds from what looked like shrapnel. He was tall, his skin a deep black colour and he wore a traditional ma-awis. Bandaging stuck out from underneath his clothes and from what little Nuri could see, it looked like his leg was tightly wrapped in the dressings. Given that the attack happened the day before, Nuri figured this was one of the healthier men and he couldn't help but wonder what the more wounded of them looked like.

Osei turned to the Warlord, bowed and gestured to the newcomer, _"This is Arapmoi from the Habr Gibr clan."_

_"I thank you for the honour of coming to speak with you today, Warlord Abri,"_ Arapmoi addressed Idris, bowing the best he could with his crutches.

Idris nodded to the man, _"Thank you for coming to speak with us so soon after such a harrowing event. Please, have a seat."_

Arapmoi nodded, taking the proffered seat thankfully, setting his crutches to his sides.

_"__My associates have told me that you have some information on the attack yesterday?"_ Idris asked.

The man nodded, _"Yes, Warlord. I was there."_

_"__Really?"_ Idris drawled, masking his surprise. _"Please, tell us about it."_

Arapmoi settled back in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position that did not aggravate his wounds before beginning. _"Recently, the men of our clan have taken to meeting at Qeybdid's house to discuss Boutros Boutros-Ghali and his attack on us. For those unfamiliar with him, he is the current UN Secretary General. He was the Ambassador to Egypt under Barre's regime and we believe he's using the UN and US to restore the Darod clan, Barre's clan, to power._

_"__Aidid was not at this meeting, but many of our Elders were, including our most senior leader Sheik Haji Mohamed Iman Aden. We were meeting to discuss a peace initiative extended by Animal Howe. While Aidid might be content running our country to the ground, we know that there is little to gain from running a destitute country. The men in attendance were the best educated in our clan; our lawyers, engineers, educators and religious leaders and we had much to gain by making peace with the UN._

_"__I thank Allah for my luck yesterday. I was kneeling against the walls, slightly behind one of the couches that held our Elders. I think this was the only reason I survived. The meeting had just begun and one of the Elders was discussing what Animal Howe had offered when a blast went off. There was a flash of light and a deafening crack followed quickly by another that created a huge explosion. I was thrown to the floor from that explosion and my body felt like it was on fire. The couch had been shattered and pieces of the wood and metal were lodged themselves in my skin. _

_"__I scrambled to my feet and looked around the room. There were bodies everywhere... some were whole, intact, but many others were in pieces, strewn around the room. Qeybdid was still standing somehow, as well as a handful of other men, all bloody and burnt. We were all in shock, but another explosion sounded and we all began rushing about. A few of the men were calling and digging among the dead but the rest of us were just trying to get out of there. _

_"__The air was full of smoke and the smell of blood. I made for the staircase only to be thrown back against the wall by another explosion. I saw several men fall down where the stairs had been and scrambled over, trying to find a way down. I saw several bodies on the ground, but no way down. I decided to jump for it the best I could, using the bodies to soften my landing. I had no other choice..._

_"__The few of us were left ran for one of the back doors. The helicopters were flying overhead, shooting their bullets and sweeping down near the building. One of us suggested that we make a run for it... really we had no choice. The building was on fire and we could hear Rangers breaking their way through the front and firing their guns. We ended up running for it. The helicopters shot at us and took down at least half of us. I was shot in the leg, but I was one of the lucky ones since somehow I could still run. We ran down the street, dodging through alley ways before hiding in a house._

_"__The men... we all were hurt. Some of us had blood dripping from our ears and eyes from the explosions while others were clutching their sides or limping. I could feel the blood dripping down my neck from a head wound. I think I got it from the first explosion but I can't be sure. Several hours later we were finally able to leave the house where we were hiding. Another two of us had died from our wounds before we were able to get medical attention."_

Arapmoi finished his story and the room fell quiet. Even the most hardened of the commanders showed their horror, followed quickly by anger. The silence did not last long.

_"__How dare they?!"_

_"__Western pigs!"_

**"****What sort of..."**

_"__Silence!"_ Idris commanded. The men settled down, still radiating anger. _"There is no question that the UN has overstepped their boundaries. They should not be retaliating for the attack of their allies by unknown forces. While we can understand and at least put up with their desire to provide humanitarian aid, attacking Somalis cannot be allowed."_ Murmurs of agreement floated around the room.

_"__What shall we do then Warlord?"_ Osei asked. _"Surely we cannot do nothing..."_ he trailed off at Idris' glare.

_"__No, we cannot do nothing while our countrymen are being slaughtered."_ The Warlord turned to address Arapmoi, _"Go back to your clan and tell them they have our assistance."_ The man nodded, levered himself up onto his crutches and followed Osei out of the room.

_"__If I may, Warlord,"_ Nuri began, waiting for the signal to continue. _"If we are preparing to fight the Rangers, we are going to need more soldiers and weapons."_

Idris nodded to his son, _"You are correct."_ He turned to face the commanders around the room, _"We will need to pick up more recruits as well as speak with our arms dealer. I will be handling the latter, but I want Mujahid to spearhead the former. Mujahid, I want you to form a team and scour the villages within ten kilometres of here. You are going to have to work fast since others will likely be doing the same soon._

_"__The Abdi house attack was a declaration of war, one I do not intend to leave unanswered."_

**

* * *

August 1993**

It was a quiet night at the Burrow. The children had been put to bed and Molly could be found knitting on the couch, distracting herself from thinking about Ginny while waiting for her husband, Arthur, to come home. He had been putting in long hours at work due to the tragedy at Hogwarts. Nearly all of the Aurors, as well as any employee with combat training, had been sent to Hogwarts to scour the castle. As a result, the entire ministry had to step up to fill the spots that were left vacant. Arthur's superiors had determined that his department wasn't vital enough to keep running while they had a shortage in more important places elsewhere so he had been shunted to the Auror department to take care of their paperwork..

Molly looked up at the fireplace as it roared to life, tinting the familiar green that signified floo travel. A second later the fire spit out a balding redhead, soot spattered on his worn clothing. Molly looked up at his husband standing to greet him before she stopped short at the look on his face. Her husband's eyes shone with terror, anger and fear etched into the lines on his face.

"Arthur..." she said hesitantly.

"Azkaban!" he gasped, grabbing her arms, desperate for an anchor. "Breakout... at Azkaban!"

"What!?!" Molly nearly screeched, keeping her voice down at the last moment. "What do you _mean_ breakout at Azkaban??"

Arthur pushed her down on the couch and sat next to her. "You-Know-Who attacked Azkaban. The Aurors have been tied up at Hogwarts so there weren't enough guards. All of them were killed and the prisoners freed..."

"But, but what about the Dementors? Aren't they supposed to guard the prisoners??" Molly asked desperately.

Arthur shook his head and wrapped his arms around his wife. "They weren't there. Nobody knows where they went."

"Could they have joined You-Know-Who?" Molly asked quietly, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"That's what they think happened," Arthur sighed.

They spent several minutes in silence before Molly sat back and finally asked the question that had been swimming in her mind. "Who? Who escaped?"

Arthur took a deep breath before answering. "All three LeStranges, Dolohov, Mulciber, Rookwood and..."

"And who, Arthur??" Molly demanded.

"Sirius Black..."

"Black!" she shouted before looking at the stairs. "Black!" she whispered fiercely, her eyes tearing up. "That murderer! How could all this happen? How could such a good man fall so far?" She began sobbing and Arthur pulled her back into his arms, letting her ramble out her grief. "Poor little Peter Pettigrew... poor little Peter. He didn't deserve to to be killed by that monster! And Lily and James..."

"I don't know, dear. I don't know why he sold them out or why he killed Peter. Only he knows why he did it. It'll be okay though. The Aurors are being pulled out of Hogwarts and reassigned to searching for the Death Eaters."

Molly sat back and looked at Arthur in shock, "But what about Hogwarts? What about Ginny??"

Arthur shook his head, "The Aurors determined that whatever perpetuated the attacks is gone. They sent a recommendation to the Board of Governors to reopen the school for the fall semester."

"And Albus?" Molly asked.

"He agrees and is planning to reopen the school as soon as the Board allows."

"And G-Ginny?" she stuttered.

Arthur closed his eyes and bowed his head, eliciting another sob from Molly. "There's no trace." He pulled Molly back into his arms as she began to sob. The loss of Ginny had hit the woman hard. It was their only daughter, her baby, and everyone in the family felt the loss of the fiery girl. Even the twins were uncharacteristically somber that summer.

After the sobs began to peter off Arthur broached a topic he was hesitant to touch. "About Hogwarts... I think we should send the children back when it opens this fall."

Molly looked at her husband with wide eyes, "What?? You want to send _our children_ back to the place where Ginny died?!"

Arthur closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes. They need their education and we just can't afford the tutors that would be necessary if we kept them home. Albus is certain that the danger is gone and I am inclined to believe him. Not to mention, now that the Order has been restarted we may not be home enough to take care of the children. They will be best protected there."

Molly sighed and leaned back into her husband, drawing comfort from the balding man. "I understand. The children need their education and they probably will be best protected there. But if there's a sign of danger we _will_ withdraw them!" she said vehemently.

Arthur nodded and they sat in silence, taking strength from each other's presence. They never noticed the two shadows that crept out from the dark corner and sneaked up the stairs.

The two figures climbed the stairs in silence making their way up the stairs before slipping into their room. They lit a candle and two identical redheaded boys came into view.

"What do you think, Fred?" one of the boys asked as he sat down on the bed furthest from the door.

"I don't know, George," the other said, mirroring his actions. "I didn't expect them to send us back to Hogwarts after Ginny..." he trailed off, unwilling to say it.

George nodded, "I didn't either. But I would rather be there than here with Mum. I miss Ginny too, but Mum's crying is getting a bit much."

"Will we really be safer at Hogwarts? Especially after the breakout? I thought it was impossible to break out of Azkaban."

"I thought so too, but with You-Know-Who anything seems to be possible," George said quietly. "And Sirius Black? I remember Mum and Dad saying something about it when we were kids, but..."

"You don't remember?" Fred asked curiously. His twin shook his head and he continued, "He was the one that betrayed the Potters and killed all those muggles. And Peter Pettigrew, one of their friends."

"Peter Pettigrew... why does that name sound so familiar?" George wondered, his brows furrowed as he tried to recall something just out of his reach.

Fred shrugged, "Maybe you heard someone talking about him before?"

George shook his head absently. "But I don't remember any of the rest of it..." He shrugged, "Oh well. Maybe I did hear the name somewhere."

Fred looked at his brother seriously. "Nothing is going to be the same again, will it?"

"No... it won't," George replied, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

**

* * *

Ma-awis:** Colourful traditional Somali wraparound cotton skirts.

**Arapmoi:** African Nandi name; son of war.

**Darod clan:** Siad Barre's clan.

**'Animal' Howe:** Also known as U.S. Admiral Jonathan Howe. When he originally arrived in Mogadishu he was the Special Representatives of the Secretary General of the UN. That changed rather quickly and he effectively became the head of the attack forces in Somalia. The Somalis referred to him as 'Animal' Howe. In the end he took the blame for the Battle of Mogadishu.

**A/N:** I didn't want to kill off Ginny, but I didn't see a way to reasonably keep her alive. Assuming all other events went as expected, she would have died without Harry and Voldemort would have come to life. No two ways about that

Maybe you're wondering about the Philosopher's Stone? Personally, I believe that Dumbledore wouldn't have been stupid enough to draw attention to the stone's hiding place by creating such elaborate traps. It would be FAR easier to put it in the mirror and leave the mirror in some forgotten storage room somewhere. I think that while Rowling used it as a plot device, really it's more reasonable to believe he did it to 'test' Harry or other such nonsense. And even if Dumbles _had_ decided to make the traps for protection purposes, I don't think Quirrell or Riddle would have gotten past the mirror. As clever as Tom was as a teenager, I don't think he would have been able to fulfill the requirement, even if he figured out what it was.

As for the events this chapter, the attack on the Abdi House is all true, as are all of the implications behind it. The person I use to tell the story isn't real and thusly anything about his experience is fiction. The meeting, the deaths... those are all true. The dead Pakistanis as well as the UN's response to them are all true. Everything in this chapter in regards to Somalia is true.


	18. Ma alinti Rangers

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-). The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

_Thank you_ to **Marian **for correcting my Somali. In my defence I _did_ pull the phrase from the book _Black Hawk Down_.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Nuri goes to Hogwarts

**

* * *

3 October, 1993 – 15:40**

"Soobaxa e guryalaha celsada!"

It had been almost a year since the Rangers had come. The Rangers; the forces that the US had sent at the UN's request. They had come with their guns and their helicopters, first to 'assure aid', then to tear apart their city in the search for Aidid. The Rangers' helicopters flew over Mogadishu day and night, often swinging low, pulling the trees from the ground and the roofs from the buildings. They were destroying the marketplaces and homes without thought; it was as if it were a game, and the 'Skinnies' were just toys in their very own sandcastle. It disgusted Nuri.

"Soobaxa e guryalaha celsada! _Come out and defend your homes!"_

Nuri, Mujahid as well as some of the Adepts from the militia were out in the Bakara market that day looking for arms. Their last dealer had recently been arrested by the Interpol so they had to go through the street vendors until they could find another. The group was armed to the teeth since the area in and around the Bakara market had become very hostile.

Nuri and Mujahid had been at a booth selling ammunition when they first smelled it. Burning tires; the militias' signal that the Rangers were coming. The signal was only used when a full contingent was spotted and their group just happened to be in the center of the hostile area. It was auspicious timing, or inauspicious depending on the point of view. Nuri was sure his aabbe would consider it the latter, but after the last several months of fighting, he certainly believed it was the former. Despite being thirteen and well trained, his aabbe tried to keep him out of the battles with the Rangers who were highly trained. But there was no way he was leaving now.

"Soobaxa e guryalaha celsada!"

Nuri heard the telltale beating off the helicopters. The wind kicked up and the road was soon filled with sand and screams. Nuri and the rest of his group pulled up their scarves and wrapped them around their faces so only their eyes showed to protect them from the sand. They were all anonymous militiamen now, all wearing the Adepts' standard black and tan cargoes and wrapped in long, black scarves.

A few hand signals traded back and forth had the group spread out in twos and threes on each side of the road with their guns cocked. Nuri sneaked to the corner of the building he was against to look down where the sounds of a helicopter were coming from. Peering around the jagged edge of the building he saw the Rangers streaming out of one of the helicopters while under fire. The telltale flash of an RPG came from the corner of his vision and he watched as the helicopter sharply twisted to avoid the grenade. He couldn't help but snicker when he watched one of the Rangers lose his grip on the sliding rope and fall the 20 metres to the ground.

He watched as the next, and last, Ranger slid down behind the fallen man and called for a medic. Another two men rushed out into the middle of the street. Into the open with shots being fired all around them. For one man! Nuri had heard about this weakness; how the men would do anything they could to get their own out, dead or alive. They would risk any number of men to retrieve few. It was suicidal and foolhardy, but it was a weakness the militiamen had no problem exploiting.

He felt someone tap on his shoulder and he whipped around to see Mujahid's dark face near his own. His eyes followed where the man's mutilated hand pointed, down the street to a large white hotel that was surrounded by tanks and trucks.

_"__What the hell?" _Nuri murmured. He signaled for one of the Charmers in charge of keeping track of Aidid's movements. _"Why would the Rangers be attacking that building?"_ he demanded of the Adept.

The boy looked down at the building and Nuri saw the recognition in his eyes. _"That is the Olympic Hotel. It was rumoured that some of Aidid's men and maybe Aidid himself were to meet there sometime soon."_

Nuri's eyes narrowed, _"And you didn't think to tell me this, why?"_ The other boys eyes widened and he started to stutter out a response only to be cut off, _"I will deal with you later."_ The boy nodded and scurried back over to the group he came from.

Nuri looked back at Mujahid, _"So, what should we do?"_ Mujahid was as furious as the rest of their countrymen. Even the Somalis that had welcomed the US and UN with open arms had gotten to the point that they would lay down their lives for the blood of the Rangers. They had torn apart their city in their search for Aidid, killing many bystanders in their wake. They had even attacked a hospital.

Mujahid's scarf had slipped down at some point while he was speaking to the Charmer so Nuri could see the sadistic smile spread across his face. _"Give them hell."_

Nuri's mirrored his expression and he turned to the others to begin directing them.

**

* * *

16:10**

The Somali men all knew what the Rangers thought of their Black Hawk helicopters. They saw the machines as invincible, their personal gods in the sky. The helicopters were their backup. Whenever they got in trouble, the helicopters would swoop in, shoot their machine guns into the militiamen and save them.

The Somalis all knew that if they could take one of the helicopters down, the Rangers would be trapped. They would always come in for their own regardless of circumstances and would make easy targets.

Nuri and his group slipped into an alley and made their way down to one of the wider streets. One of the Adepts kneeled down and hoisted the RPG up onto his shoulder, pointing it at one of the helicopters hovering several blocks away from the hotel. With an easy pull of the trigger and a nasty kickback, a RPG flew up towards the helicopter, obviously far too wide.

_"__Otieno!"_ Nuri barked at the air elemental. The young Adept stepped forward and lifted his hand, pushing the wind towards the RPG. The air caught the grenade and shoved it towards the helicopter. The timing device on the RPG triggered as it reached the tail of the Hawk. The grenade exploded, taking the tail rotor with it. The Adepts cheered as the helicopter lurched and began to spin, smoke circling behind it. Nuri slapped Otieno on the back as the Hawk disappeared and a resounding crash reverberated across the city.

The group turned and ran back down the alleyway towards the crash. Shouts echoed up and down the streets, a call to arms for the Somalis fed up with the Rangers. Men, women and militiamen ran down the streets towards the crash site. Nuri and his group were swept into the crowd, careful to stay away from the edges of the mob in case the Rangers opened fire as they had been wont to do.

Nuri caught a glance of the convoy that still sat outside the Olympic hotel and had an idea. He signaled to Mujahid and between the two of them they managed to corral all of the Adepts down an alleyway away from the mob. They made their way back to the main road, many blocks down from the hotel. Nuri directed the Adepts to begin hauling pieces of debris and whatever they could find to make a roadblock. The Destroyers pulled apart some stalls, their magic augmenting their strength, to get more debris for the roadblock. Wood, tires, metal and trash piled up across the road until a solid wall was built. With the group standing off to the side, Nuri lifted his hand and threw one of his flamelets at a tire. The tire sparked, the flamelet attached to its rim and Nuri urged more of his magic into the flame until the entire tire burst into flame. The fire quickly spread across the roadblock until it formed a wall of smoke.

Nodding, Nuri turned back to the Adepts only to drop to the ground as shots rang out. A quick roll later he was behind a small burning car and pulled out his gun, aiming down the street towards the convoy. The Rangers were firing down the street at them, probably having spotted them when the roadblock burst into flames. Nuri shot off round after round, blindly aiming in the direction of the trucks. He heard one of his men cry out followed by Mujahid's barked orders to retreat back down the alleyway.

Nuri slung his gun back over his shoulder and ran over to the alley, tripping over a body on the way. He looked down to see the air elemental, Otieno, lying on the ground with wide, dead eyes. He sneered and quickly grabbed his gun and ammunition. The air elemental had been good at what he did and Nuri was angry that the idiot had gotten himself killed. There wasn't another elemental to take his place.

As he dove for cover one of the other Destroyers sent a burst of magic to destroy the rubble the Rangers were hiding behind. The wood and plaster exploded, causing the Rangers to dive out of the way and giving the Adepts the chance to escape.

**

* * *

16:40**

The Adepts had been setting up another roadblock when they heard the yells: another Hawk had been hit. Nuri quickly set fire to the pile of debris before the group ran towards the noise. Looking up, they could see the spirals of smoke way down the road and over several blocks. The Adepts melded into another mob of Somalis making their way to the crash site.

They followed the mob down the main streets and cut across several alleyways. While most of the roads were filled with Somalis, one road had a group of Rangers who were also making their way to the downed helicopter. Nuri watched from down the road behind them as they surged from building to building, running next to the walls before stopping at every corner to check the alleys for gunmen.

Nuri looked closely at the running men. The Rangers looked nothing like the Somalis. Sometimes he wondered if they were even human, whether real flesh and blood people were underneath all of the armour and gadgetry. Their heads were dwarfed by large camouflaged helmets and they frequently wore goggles or other gear to protect and augment their vision. Their bodies were large, built up by the armour they wore under their standard issue suits and bulky from all of the gadgets and ammunition they had stored on their persons. In all, they looked like inhuman robots.

Nuri signaled for the Adepts to crouch behind some of the cars and around the corners of the buildings. The Adepts waited while he carefully took aim and fired, hitting one of the Rangers in the back and, surprisingly, downing the man. Nuri had been aiming for an arm or a leg knowing that the Americans routinely wore body armour, but apparently this man hadn't. Rather stupid considering.

His shot was the signal for the group to open fire and they shot down the street at the Rangers who were ducking out of the way and crouching behind cars and trash bins to fire back. Nuri saw one of his bullets nail a Ranger in the hand, his gun flying out of his grip and him cradling the injured appendage. He smiled and continued to shoot, occasionally taking aim but mainly just laying down fire in their general direction.

When he felt a bullet graze his arm he signaled for a retreat and they ran down the alley they came from. Nuri noticed that several of the Adepts were nursing wounds and he waited as Mujahid attended to them, wrapping their arms or legs with strips of their shirts. They never brought the Healers out of the compound, they were too precious, so they had to make do with Mujahid's basic knowledge of first aid. After another five minutes the group continued to make their way to the crash site.

The group slowed down as they finally reached the site twenty or so minutes later. They could hear the gunshots and knew that at least one Ranger was still alive. Nuri edged around one of the broken buildings taking up cover behind some chunks of wall. His group followed his example, spreading out through the ruins. Looking into the center of the clearing, Nuri saw one lone Ranger shooting at any Somali that came near, regardless of gender, age or weaponry. The man looked like a cornered animal, frightened to the point of fury and desperation. He was obviously very injured, blood soaking his camos, but he seemed to pay no heed to the pain he had to be feeling, too focused on survival. Nuri couldn't help but be impressed by the Ranger's accuracy. One man was holding off the mob, if only barely. It certainly earned his respect.

Nuri signaled for the Adepts to drop their sights and just wait. They obeyed without hesitation but he could see the confusion and irritation in their eyes. He completely ignored Mujahid's sharp questions, sending the man a quelling look demanding obedience. Nuri knew the man hated obeying him so he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in the man's submission.

He turned his eyes back to the lone figure in the clearing next to the wreckage. Bodies surrounded the helicopter and the man just kept firing. Nuri knew these were his countrymen the cowboy was killing, but if the idiots decided it was a good idea to run up individually to an armed and firing man then they deserved to die.

Nuri heard the beating wings of another helicopter and they all looked to the sky. They watched as another Hawk swooped down low enough to drop off two more soldiers before flying back up out of range. The two men ran up to the single bloody figure next to the downed helicopter. One of them began firing off shots at the thickening mob while the other grabbed onto the wounded man and dragged him out of the open.

Deciding that they had waited long enough, Nuri signaled the other Adepts to make their way towards the helicopter. They sneaked around the edge of the block, careful to keep out of the sights of the two men crouched in the downed Hawk. The two men fired quickly and borderline frantically, but for every Somali they killed two more replaced them. Despite their best efforts, they were slowly overwhelmed.

**

* * *

17:40**

Once the firing ceased, Nuri, the Adepts and Mujahid ran up to the helicopter, keeping their eyes open for the Rangers they knew were making their way to the crash. Nuri watched as the Somalis pulled the body of one of the soldiers from the helicopter and stripped him down. One of the Adepts managed to grab a helmet and a knife while the rest of the mob kicked and threw rocks at the dead man.

As he watched the mob lift up the corpse and carry it around like a macabre trophy, Nuri felt an odd mixture of disgust and sense of vengeance. The body had once been a man, but it personified the Rangers and the havoc they had wreaked on their city. In that moment, the man epitomized all of the pain and chaos the US and UN had put them through. He watched as someone tied a rope around the corpse's ankles before several people began dragging him down the street. A mob followed in their wake, cheering and kicking at the body on their way.

A shout and gun shots drew Nuri's attention away from the mob and he darted around the helicopter and over to a building behind it. He used his magic to shove his way through a mob of people and saw a thoroughly beaten, bloody but definitively _alive_ man lifted up and taken by some people he recognised as being a part of Aidid's militia. Nuri almost felt sorry for the Ranger; he certainly didn't want to be in his position.

Nuri slipped back through the mob to the waiting group of bloodied Adepts. Mujahid stepped out in front of him, a set and determined look on his face.

**"****We must go home. The Warlord is going to be upset that we stayed at all, much less this long. The Americans are not going to be happy about one of their own being dragged through the streets and we should not be here once they come for him,"** Mujahid said sharply.

He didn't want to leave, but Nuri knew that Mujahid was right. The Rangers were going to have to regroup, but when they did he did not want to be there. He knew that there was a large group of soldiers from the US, Malaysia and Pakistan outside of their city and it was only a matter of time before they came.

Their group was going to have to make their way home on foot. It would be too dangerous to drive since the rooftops were littered with militiamen shooting for the Rangers' convoy and the streets were filled with roadblocks. This meant that it was going to be very late by the time they made it back and his aabbe was going to be furious. He was not looking forward to facing the Warlord's wrath.

Signaling to the Adepts, the group turned away from the mob and headed back to the manor, keeping their eyes open for the Rangers they knew were making their way to the crash site.

**

* * *

21:45**

"Michael Durant: we won't leave you behind. Michael Durant: we won't leave you behind."

The group made their way up the driveway of the manor, the message from a helicopter blaring across the city for what Nuri suspected was the man he saw captured. The Adepts dragged themselves around the building towards the magical community at the back of the compound while Nuri and Mujahid made their way to the front door.

They both looked awful. Their clothing was ripped and bloodied from the various firefights they got into on the way back to the manor. Both friend and foe fired at them, either unable or unwilling to distinguish them from the Rangers. The city had gone mad. Buildings and stalls were being torn apart both by guns and hands, people looting every item they could find.

Dead bodies littered some streets while others were barren. Some alleys rang with gunfire while others were eerily silent. More than a few buildings had been completely destroyed. RPGs were fired off left and right, nearly all of them missing the Rangers entirely and taking out buildings and Somalis instead.

Nuri heard a slam and looked up at the front door to the manor. In the doorway stood his aabbe looking every inch the vengeful Warlord he was. Nuri couldn't help but tremble; he had seen this anger aimed at others before but he had never had it directed at him.

**"****Mujahid,"** the Warlord snapped, turning his dark eyes to the scarred and bloodied man. **"You are to await me in the Block."**

Out of the corner of his eye Nuri could see the dark man blanch, quite a strange sight on such a ferocious man.

"You, my dear son," the Warlord sneered, turning his attention back to Nuri, "are to follow me."

Nuri swallowed hard, working to keep himself from shaking as he followed his aabbe into the manor. They made their way through the strangely silent corridors to the Warlord's study, the guards taking up posts outside the doors as they shut them inside.

He stood as still as he could in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes trained on the floor as he listened to the Warlord move to stand in front of him. Nuri focused on keeping himself from fidgeting as the silence drew out between them. After ten long minutes the Warlord finally addressed him.

_"__I am not sure just what you were thinking. I sent you out into what you knew was a hostile area with strict instructions to return at the first sign of trouble. There is a reason I have kept you away from fighting the Rangers. You have seen how dangerous they could be. But, you deliberately disobeyed me and went against what common sense I would have expected you to have by this age."_ The Warlord's words were sharp, cutting deeply into Nuri despite how quiet they were.

_"__I do not want to hear any excuses you may have. I am not interested in any possible justifications you may give. You have disobeyed me and will thusly be punished."_

Nuri kept silent, his eyes never moving from the floor in front of his feet. He tried to stay calm but he was frightened. The last time his aabbe had punished him had been six and a half years previously when he had made friends with a child in the militia. Sefu, Nuri remembered. He was terrified, fear coursing up and down his body. He did his best to keep his magic under control as he felt it roiling around in his core to protect him from whatever threat was scaring him so.

He stayed perfectly still as the Warlord left the room, never straying from his spot in the center of the room. All too soon the man reappeared and slammed the door behind him, causing Nuri to jump.

_"__Strip down and stand in front of the desk,"_ the Warlord barked out.

Nuri whipped around, shocked by his aabbe's demand. He saw the Warlord standing in front of the door, his face dark with anger, and shivered. He caught a glimpse of something wrapped around his hand before quickly stripping down to his pants and rushing over to the desk.

_"__Place your hands on the top of the desk and spread your legs."_

Nuri shivered but complied. He had no idea what his aabbe was planning, but he didn't like it. He turned and planted his hands on the cool, hard wood of the desk. He heard the man's heavy footsteps come up behind him and the odd sound of creaking leather.

Without a word spoken, Nuri heard the Warlord move and immediately felt something sharp slam into him, leaving a line of fire burning across his back and a sharp crack in the air. He cried out at the pain and tears quickly welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision before he slammed his eyes shut. Crack after crack sounded, the leather cutting deeply into his skin across his back and down his legs. He felt blood dripping from the lashes and knew that it had to be pooling on the floor underneath him.

The Warlord finally stopped once Nuri's entire back was nearly numb from the pain and his throat was raw from screaming. Nuri's legs collapsed underneath him, having lost the battle to hold him up once it was no longer needed. He sobbed into the carpet underneath him, unable to hold himself up due to the pain. He didn't hear his aabbe kneel next to him but he jumped when he felt him place a hand on his knee.

_"__Shh, my darling boy. I am sorry I had to do that, but you had to be punished. You could have died due to your disobedience. You need to listen to me, child. I always have what's best for you in mind. You need to trust me."_ His aabbe rubbed soothing circles on his leg as he comforted him.

Nuri knew his aabbe was right. He hadn't been thinking through his anger and had deliberately disobeyed because he wanted to fight the Rangers. He had put himself in danger and had worried his aabbe. As much as it hurt, he knew he deserved the punishment.

_"__I am s-sorry, father,"_ he choked out through his sobs. _"I a-am sorry! I won't d-do it a-again, I promise. I won't do i-it again."_

_"__I know, son. I know,"_ his aabbe said softly. _"Now lets get you to the infirmary. They'll patch you up and then you can head to bed, hmm?"_

Nuri nodded jerkily and stood at the pressure underneath his arm, _"Yes, father. T-thank you, father."_ He pulled on his trousers the best he could, pain screaming through his back, and followed his aabbe out of the room.

**

* * *

Ma-alinti Rangers**

The firefight that became the first Battle of Mogadishu lasted well into the night and through the next morning. A mission that was expected to be 30 minutes lasted 15 hours. The Rangers were forced to send for back up which didn't show until early the morning of the 4th. It wasn't until 6:30 the morning of the 4th that the Rangers and their back up were completely evacuated, having to run what is now called the Mogadishu mile since the convoy was so overrun with the dead and injured.

Of the U.S. soldiers, 18 were killed while a total of 83 were injured. The Malaysians had a total of one death and seven wounded while the Pakistanis had two wounded. Mike Durant was released more than a week later.

Estimates of the deaths on the Somali side range from 350 to more than 2 000. The number of wounded were estimated to bee between 3000-10 000. All of these estimates vary depending on the source.

The implications of this fight were widespread. There was an international demand for the US and UN to withdraw, questioning the reasons for them being there, their methods and their leaders. They also questioned whether or not the US broke the Geneva Conventions. Their argument is that they were there under UN orders which was not a signer of the Conventions and thusly did not fall under their rule. Many people responsible for this attack either resigned or were discharged both in the US and the UN. Ever since this disaster, both the UN and the US have both been reluctant to provide any military aid to other countries, particularly in Africa.

**

* * *

Soobaxa e guryalaha celsada****!:** Come out and defend your homes!

**RPG:** Rocket propelled grenade. RPGs normally detonate on contact, a problem when aiming for helicopters, so they replaced them with timing devices so they could explode midair, thus not needing a direct hit. With it, they would aim for the tails and take out the rotors.


	19. Freedom and Exploration

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this. The Somali history belongs to the Somali people, but the African magic is all mine.

**A/N:** This chapter covers about two years, so pay attention to your dates! Date for the DoM picked up from HP Lexicon. Basically, I used the same time frame, just moved it ahead a couple years.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
//Parseltongue//

**Timeline**

**1979 – **Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.**  
1985 – **Idris' family is killed.**  
1986 – **Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.**  
1989 – **President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.**  
1991 – **Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.**  
1992 – **Operation Restore Hope launched.**  
1993 – **Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu).**  
1996 – **Harry goes to Hogwarts

**

* * *

October 1993**

"Oi! Watch where you're going!"

"No, _you_ watch where _you're_ going!"

"Oh bloody... _Lumos."_

A soft light flickered to life atop a redhead's wand. Two boys, identical down to the last freckle, came into view, each glaring at the other.

"Bloody hell, Fred! Did you _have_ to step on my foot?" one of them whispered harshly. "I would think that after five years of this you would know how to walk in the dark!"

"Well excuse me, George," the one named Fred retorted quietly. "But I can't help it if you have enormously large feet!"

"Large feet! Well if I have large feet, so do you!"

"Shh!" Fred snapped and pulled out a piece of blank parchment. "I think I heard Filch... _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_." The two boys looked down at the paper, their heads nearly touching as they scanned it.

"There," George whispered, pointing at the parchment. "Filch is coming down the corridor."

"You think we can make it to the common room before then?" Fred asked.

George looked at his twin, "Only one way to find out." They grinned at each other, doused the light and took off down the hall as quickly and quietly as they could. They could hear Filch as he turned the corner, his footsteps echoing down the hall, and quietly cast muffling spells on their feet. They had learned those in their 2nd year after having been caught too many times due to noise from their shoes.

Once quieted, they took off in a run, whipping around corners and up stairs, hoping a staircase wouldn't randomly move and send them back the way they came. They were fairly lucky that night; the staircases stayed stationary and the Fat Lady was sleepy enough that she hardly noticed them as she swung open.

The two boys plopped down on the couch in front of the dying fire.

"That was too close..." Fred panted.

"Yea," George sighed. "We haven't had that close of a call in a while. We should probably pay more attention to the map from now on."

"I agree brother," Fred nodded and raised his wand to the map. "_Mischief_..." he trailed off.

George looked at his twin in confusion, "Fred? What is it?"

"Do you see that?" he asked, pointing to a spot on the map, nonplussed.

George scooted over, wondering just what could spook his brother, and looked to where he was pointing.

Up the stairs, in the 2nd years boy's dorm room was a dot trailing with Zs labeled 'Ron Weasley', and next to it was a tiny spot labeled 'Peter Pettigrew'.

"What..." George trailed off. He sucked in another breath before continuing, "What is that? We heard mum. Pettigrew is dead. Maybe the map is defective?"

Fred shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the spot resting next to his brother. "We've been using this map for years... it has never been wrong."

"But..."

"I don't know. But that dot, whatever it is, is next to Ron. We should at least check it out."

George nodded and the two boys stood, making their way up the stairs and down the hall that lead to the third years room. While Fred held up the map, George eased open the door, hoping that it wouldn't creak and give them away. It slid open on silent hinges and the two boys crept in, making their way to their brother's bed.

They angled the map towards the window so that they could see the names by the little light that it provided. Next to Ron's bed were their names and between them and their brother was the name 'Peter Pettigrew'. They looked down and saw nothing, both confusion and relief showing on their faces.

"Well," George whispered as quietly as they could. "Maybe the map _is_ faul..." he trailed off when he saw a small lump under the covers shift. They eyed each other and George reached forward, wand at the ready, and pulled the sheets back.

There, underneath the bed covers and curled up closely to their brother, was Scabbers. Not one to take chances, Fred cast a quiet _Stupefy_, took the rat by the tail and stepped away from the bed. Looking down at the map he could see that Pettigrew had moved with him, no longer next to Ron but now flat up against the dot labeled with his name. The two boys looked at each other seriously and crept out, headed back down to the common room.

Fred laid the rat...person...thing onto a table and sat down, staring at it. George sat next to him and asked, "Now what?

Fred shook his head. "Now... I'd hate to say it, but I think we to have to take this to the Headmaster. Either the map is faulty or something serious is going on."

"But... but they'll take the map!"

"Yea, they probably will. But if this is who the map says it is, this is more important."

George nodded solemnly and conjured up a cage to put the rat into, not wanting to touch the thing any more than necessary, and the two boys took the map before leaving the room to head to the Headmaster's office.

The trip passed quietly, neither of them saying anything even when checking the map to make sure none of the Professors were about. When they finally reached the gargoyle, they looked down at the map and saw the tiny print next to the statue that said 'Milka'. They repeated the password and headed up the stairs. They hesitated when they finally stood in front of the door to the office, each with a hand reaching for the door knob. This only lasted for a moment until from inside the room they heard Dumbledore's voice.

"Please come in boys."

Shrugging to each other they entered the room only to see the Headmaster sitting behind his desk, robed as if it weren't the middle of the night. Both boys had always wondered if the man ever slept.

"Well," Headmaster Dumbledore said cheerfully as he leaned forward onto his desk. "Have a seat. I would offer you tea, but given the hour I don't think you're here for a social call. What can I do for you?"

"Well sir," George began when it was obvious that Fred would not. "We kinda... well. Um... we kinda have a map, sir."

"A map?" Dumbledore asked, at least acting completely clueless.

"Yes... a map, sir. It tells us, well it tells us where people are in the castle, you see?" George said hesitantly, trailing off at the end.

"Indeed. That sounds like quite the useful item."

George nodded and swallowed. "Yes, sir. Well, tonight, we were... umm, well, we found something strange."

"Strange?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

George nodded. "Yes, sir. We were looking around Gryffindor and saw a strange name. A name that didn't belong there..."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, leaning back into his chair and raising an eyebrow. "And who was it that you saw?"

"Peter Pettigrew, sir," Fred said, obviously having gotten over whatever was preventing him from speaking.

The Headmaster's eyes widened, visibly startled, and leaned forward. "What did you say?"

"Peter Pettigrew, sir," George said, his voice firm as he placed the conjured cage up onto the desk.

Dumbledore eyed the cage and reached out to it, hesitant to touch it. If this was who the boys said it was then they had made a grave mistake. He flipped the latch and lifted the lid. Inside was a plain grey and brown rat laying on its side. Interestingly enough, he was missing a single toe from one of his front paws. He looked up at the boys and raised an eyebrow.

"We Stupefied it, sir," George said, answering the silent question.

Dumbledore nodded and levitated the rat out of the cage and down onto the floor. He stepped out from behind his desk and wove an intricate pattern with his wand, saying the spell so fast that neither boy could understand him. A light flashed and they watched the rat as its features melting into those of a human. A fat, ugly, balding human.

The Headmaster quickly conjured some rope and wrapped it around the rat before turning back to them. "This was a good thing you did, boys. One hundred points to Gryffindor and you will be given the award for Special Services to Hogwarts. But for now, head off to bed and I will call the Aurors. I expect they will want to talk to you come morning."

The boys nodded and George turned to leave but Fred stayed where he was. "But,what if he wakes up? Won't he be able to turn back into a rat like that?"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "I spelled the rope against animagus transformations, but five points to Gryffinor for having thought of that."

Fred hesitated before asking his next question; he didn't want to, but they needed to know. "And the map, sir?"

"What map?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.

The boys both smiled and turned to the door.

"Oh, before I forget," Dumbledore said as they reached the door. "I expect that you will have something for me upon your graduation."

The boys nodded. They had expected that. They left the room and headed back to Gryffindor as Dumbledore headed to the floo to call the Aurors.

**

* * *

**

**Sirius Black, INNOCENT!**

The Daily Prophet

Rita Skeeter

Early this morning this reporter painstakingly discovered that an unprecedented event had occurred at the Ministry of Magic. Sirius Black, accused mass murderer and suspected follower of You-Know-Who, was granted a Full Pardon. Mr. Black was sent to Azkaban twelve years ago, charged with the deaths of over a dozen Muggles and the poor Peter Pettigrew after betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who. Recently, this Supposedly dangerous criminal escaped Azkaban in the assumed company of six known Death Eaters.

At 7:30 this morning the Ministry of Magic called off the hunt for Mr. Black and made a public announcement that he will be given a full pardon and receive compensation for wrongful imprisonment. Why? You might ask has the ministry had such a sudden change of heart.

Well this reporter went to great lengths to answer just that question.

According to an anonymous source at the ministry, new evidence surfaced just last night which conclusively proved that he had, in fact, been framed. While the Ministry would have you believe that so called Special Aurors had discovered this evidence, my exclusive resources revealed the following, "Dumbledore called us late last night telling us that he had proof of Black's innocence. Once we got to Hogwarts, he gave us Peter Pettigrew, bound and Stupified! He said that a couple of students caught him as a rat."

How, you might ask, has Mr. Pettigrew been able to escape undetected all these years right under the nose of our dear Albus Dumbledore? And why were two students the ones to capture the man, instead of our illustrious Headmaster?

If, as the ministry claims, Peter Pettigrew is alive, just what happened on that fateful night 12 years ago? With enormous perseverance, this reporter discovered the Truth. Mr. Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial due to "incontrovertible evidence". He was given no chance to defend himself, a basic right even afforded to Muggles! This begs the question, "Who else has the Ministry so unjustly imprisoned?"

This reporter will work tirelessly to bring any more dark secrets out of the Ministry's questionable past .

For now, I commend these as-of-yet unnamed students and hope that justice will finally be done for the Potters and especially for the sadly missing Boy-Who-Lived.

**

* * *

18 December, 1993**

Dirty, nasty odours seeped from the blank walls, smelling like too many sweaty, filthy wizards. Foul, unworthy creatures. Undeserving to be a part of her Master's new world. But it was not her place to decide such things.

She slid down an empty corridor, keeping all of her senses open so that she could detect any disgusting wizards. But the ministry was empty this late at night, or morning, not that the difference really mattered to her. She followed the indistinct feelings she got, the directions her Master provided her through their link, and found herself traveling down a hallway with a door at the end. She could feel and taste the fresher air as it slipped out from beneath the door, very different from the stale taste of the hall.

She froze as a new scent reached her, swiveling her head around to see if anything was there. With what little sight she had, she saw nothing, but she could smell and feel the heat coming from the corner next to the door. Someone was here, probably a dirty wizard hiding from view somehow. Listening, she could hear a quiet snoring coming from the hidden creature. She slipped up next to him, feeling the heat radiating off it, and edged up next to what she guessed was his leg.

She reared back and swiftly struck,fangs slipping through fabric and skin like butter. She relished in the feeling of flesh between her jaws. The snores rapidly turned into screams and she slithered back quickly from the now visible man who slipped out from underneath some sort of invisible sheet. His scent changed quickly from that of a healthy man to one filled with her venom. She listened as he writhed around on the floor and waited until his smell took on the scent of decay that indicated death, satisfaction thrumming through her

She slithered past the still man and paused at the door, unsure of how to cross it. She felt her Master slip magic down her link and open the door before her. She quickly slid into the small opening and came upon a round room with many different smelling doors. Following her instincts, she made her way to the right and into a room of many ticking and chiming objects. The chiming grated on her nerves and she slithered faster towards the back of the room where she could feel heat escaping.

As she came upon the next room she felt an unbearable amount of heat. It pressed up against her scales and heat sensors, almost suffocating her. Even the floor underneath her belly was hot, scalding her. She could see nothing but brightness, feel nothing but heat and hear nothing but silence. The only sense she had left to her was her smell which was muffled due to the sheer heat. She felt very vulnerable.

She followed her taste buds out of the room and into one that smelled of decay and death. Unlike the last room, this one was cold. Very cold. The floor beneath her felt like ice, but it was soothing against her burnt belly. She slipped down a rough staircase, feeling the floor pull at her scales, and made her way across the bowl-like floor. The smell of decay heightened the closer she got to what she supposed was the center of the room and where it was strongest she felt tiny vibrations, barely perceptible even to her advanced sense of touch.

She continued along the floor, searching for a new smell that was supposed to be directly across the room. Eventually she found it, another door to what she felt was the room she had been looking for. Tall stacks of something stretched out above her and the room smelled only of a bit of dust. It was not cold but there were no sources of heat and little to smell so she had to follow the indistinct commands of her Master, pushing her to turn right and then follow a long length of stacks.

She passed many open spaces before she knew to stop. As soon as she had, she felt her Master push across their link and opened herself up to him. With him accessing her mind, she could see what it was he was searching for, a small, circular thing that sat about two slithers above her. She was attempting to figure out just how she was going to reach it when she felt her Master's magic sliding through her again. She could see the red tendrils of magic surround the circle and carry it down to her. She unhinged her jaw and the orb slipped into her mouth for safe keeping.

Once done, she turned around and went back the way she came, slithering through all the rooms and past the dead man to find the Death Eater that was waiting to bring her back to her Master. She allowed him to pick her up and if she could, she would have sneered in disgust at the wizard's grubby hands on her scales. She hoped that the revolting man screwed up so that she could bite him; she knew her Master would be unhappy if she did it with no reason. As they apparated away, Nagini could only think about the feeling of her venom pumping into the loathsome wizard's body.

**

* * *

19 December, 1993**

Albus sighed as he sat at the head of the table at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, waiting for everyone to settle down enough so that he could start the meeting. It had been a long night and it promised to be an even longer day after what happened in the Department of Mysteries.

He watched as Sirius Black ushered in some of the latecomers. Several days after he had been pardoned, Albus received an owl from him offering to open up his house to the Order. Ever since then they used it for meetings and as a rally point for their missions.

Albus was glad that Sirius had been so forgiving of them for his imprisonment. Or rather, as he watched the man glare at Remus' back, at least he pretended to forgive them. Albus had a sneaking suspicion that he only put up with them so that he could find his godson. He did have concerns about his mental health, though. The man certainly was nothing like the boy he had been at Hogwarts.

"Settle down," he said sternly, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice.

"Albus, is it true?"

"What happened?"

"Was it You-Know-Who?"

"How..."

With each question the volume in the room grew. The Order members were talking over each other, trying to be heard, and Albus could feel a pain begin behind his eyes.

"Silence!" Albus commanded, using his magic to slightly amplify and deepen his voice making it more intimidating. It only appeared to somewhat work.

"Is it true? Did You-Know-Who break into the Ministry?" one Order member asked.

He sighed, "Yes and no." He raised his hands as the noise level rose again, quickly quieting the group. "From what we can tell, he had his snake break into the Department of Mysteries."

"For what?"

"How did he..."

"And Arthur?"

"Wasn't Arthur on guard last night?"

Albus resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. "Yes, Arthur was on duty last night at the Department of Mysteries."

"What happened?"

"Is he okay?"

"Quiet! If you keep talking I won't be able to answer any of your questions, will I?" Albus snapped. He took a deep breath to regain his temper. It was not often he lost it, as evidenced by the shocked look on half the Order members' faces. "Yes, Arthur was on duty. He was found this morning by one of the Unspeakables, or at least we think that's who found him. He died sometime during the night, probably immediately given what the Healers told me. He had two puncture wounds on his leg and a massive amount of snake venom in his system."

Several of the Order members gasped, others had a look of shock on their face, but for once they kept silent, although that might have had more to do with the news itself than any admonition on Albus' part.

"Albus?" Minerva McGonnagal asked and waited for the incline of his head before continuing. "How are the Weasleys faring?"

Albus sighed, "They are currently at St. Mungo's. Molly had to be sedated and both her and her children are being watched by the Healers there. They are particularly worried about Molly since she had taken Miss Weasley's death so hard. One of the only things that got her through it was Arthur, so now nobody is sure what will happen with her. For now Molly will be kept under the surveillance of the Mind Healers there. Bill will be staying with her but the rest of the children will probably be sent home tonight and watched over by Charlie."

There was a lot of murmuring around the room before Sirius spoke up. "What did You-Know-Who want with the Department of Mysteries? You never told us why we were guarding it." Only those who knew him well could hear the sharp edge in the ex-convict's voice.

Albus nodded his head slowly, knowing that they wouldn't let him leave without at least some answers. He certainly wasn't going to give them the whole truth, but he knew they wanted to know that Arthur died for a good reason.

"Not much is known about the Department of Mysteries," he began. "Of all the things kept there, we know of time turners, some experimental potions and prophecies. I have been to the Hall of Prophecies once. There are rows upon rows of shelves containing glass orbs, each with its own prophecy. The catch is that the only people able to touch any particular prophecy, except for a couple highly secret Unspeakables, are the people the prophecy addresses. One of the prophecies there was about Voldemort."

The majority of the people around the room cringed at that and more than half of them had queer looks on their faces.

"So," a dark man name Kingsley spoke up. "We were protecting a prophecy about You-Know-Who? Why was that so important? And how exactly did he know about it? I thought they kept things like that quiet."

Albus steepled his fingers in front of his face, "The prophecy is rumored to tell of Voldemort's defeat. He knew that it existed because one of his followers had heard the first part of it."

Several voices began speaking, one over another, as they absorbed this new information. After a few minutes it quieted down and Kingsley spoke back up again.

"You seem to know a lot about this, Albus. What exactly did the prophecy say," he demanded.

Albus shot Kingsley a hard look. He knew they were upset about being kept in the dark, but that didn't give them a right to treat him in such a manner. He also knew that he had to tell them something, even if they didn't know it was the whole truth.

"From what I was able to learn, it says: _the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ..._" he hesitated slightly, but nobody noticed. Nobody but Severus Snape who gave him a hard look. Severus knew that he was lying, but Albus was certain that he would never inform anybody. He owed him too much.

"This is why it is imperative that we find young Mr. Potter. James and Lily had gone up against Voldemort three times and lived when Harry was born on the 31st of July, fitting the prophecy perfectly," he said, purposely leaving out the other child that it could have referred to, hoping no one would notice. "He is the only one capable of defeating him."

Everyone in the room was stunned. Many of them had thought that it was a waste of resources and time to search for for a single boy, although all of them knew better than to say such around Sirius. But now that they knew of the prophecy...

Albus took advantage of their silence to move the meeting away from such a sensitive topic. "Kingsley, what is going on with the Ministry?"

A dark, hairless man with a gold earring in one ear sat up in his chair before responding. "They are keeping their head in the sand. The Minister has not changed his stance despite the break in and maintains that You-Know-Who has not returned and that they are searching for the culprit."

Albus politely ignored the insults muttered from around the table and turned to Severus. "And Voldemort?"

"The Dark Lord has been rather... disturbed. There was a meeting last night and he has stepped up the search for Potter. Lucius has been ordered to set up several search teams, one to sweep the isles and two others to search the continent. He has told us that we are to find the boy at all costs."

Albus sat back in his chair and rubbed at his chin. "We cannot let him find Harry first. Merlin knows what he would do to him and we _need_ him. Is there anywhere anyone can think that we have not looked?"

"Well, there's Australia, Africa, Asia and the Americas. We've only searched Europe so far," Mad-eye Moody answered gruffly.

"Hmm... the only countries with wizarding areas are the United States, Canada, China and Japan," Albus mused. "Moody, Kingsley, I'm putting you in charge of getting in contact with the ministries in those countries.

"But what about Australia? Or South America?" Kingsley asked.

Albus shook his head. "They wouldn't have gone there. Anyone sophisticated enough for the level of magic performed would stay to the magical areas in those countries."

**

* * *

September 1995**

Nuri was spending one of his few days off in the library reading some paperbacks. Ever since he had turned fifteen two months prior, he had been given a lot more responsibilities as the Warlord's heir. He was now overseeing all of the militia training involving the Adepts and a good portion of the militia that didn't. When he wasn't with the militia, he was traveling with his aabbe to learn to handle both the political and business aspects of his aabbe's fiefdom. Things had been hell the last four years and Somalia as a whole was beginning to disintegrate. After ma-alinti Rangers the international community had demanded that the US and the UN pull out of Somalia, and in March they finally had. A couple months later Aidid proclaimed himself president and the country was slowly destroying itself.

Nuri had been enjoying the tale an author was weaving about some vampires when his aabbe came in. Looking up to see who it was, Nuri immediately put down his book and stood, bowing his head in recognition. Idris nodded back and they both sat down in chairs across from one another.

_"__What are you reading, my child?"_ Idris asked, opening their conversation.

_"__A novel on vampires,"_ he said, holding up a book that had the title _Queen of the Damned_ scrawled across the cover.

Idris nodded, _"I always liked that one. I have to say, I never thought of it as anything more than fiction but ever since you came in my life and began performing magic I wonder how much of those fantasy stories are true."_

Nuri cocked his head in thought, _"That's a good point. Vampires seem unlikely though... I mean, getting food from our blood? It doesn't seem like there would be enough blood in any one body to satisfy the need for nutrients. And to be partially dead..."_

Idris shrugged while leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. _"Who knows. But, I didn't come here to speak with you about the existence of vampires."_

Looking at his aabbe with curiosity Nuri asked, _"What would you like to talk about, Father?"_

_"__I wanted to speak with you about what happened on your birthday," _the Warlord said simply.

It took all of Nuri's training over the previous eight years to keep himself from turning red in embarrassment. And despite his best efforts, his cheeks still tinged a very light pink. His birthday had been an important event. At fifteen he was expected to truly take on the yolk of his position, having become a 'man', and he was glad for the responsibility and honour. However, he had not foreseen the more... _adult _trappings of his maturity. Mainly women. Sex... sex with, women...

He hadn't given too much thought to sex before then, outside of what he had seen on raids. He never had an interest in the women he saw raped in the various villages. He _had_ learned the joy of touching himself and did so infrequently. While amusing, he didn't have much opportunity to masturbate and until relatively recently, he hadn't felt all that much desire to do it. He hadn't taken into consideration what he was thinking while enjoying himself. He just let random images flash through his mind. He certainly didn't pay attention to what he was thinking. Because of that, he was rather shocked when presented with a harem of women to enjoy for his birthday.

He had been too surprised to say anything and was simply pushed into one of the guest rooms with a group of seven barely clothed females from early teens to mid-twenties. The eldest of them was filled out with large breasts and hips, clad in swaths of black fabric held together with sheer, red gauze. The black fabric practically blended in with her skin, it was so dark. She had looked like midnight with deep chocolate eyes and short cropped, black hair. The youngest hadn't looked any older than 12, her breasts just beginning to swell and hairless all over, something Nuri could easily see since she wore _only_ gauzy fabric.

The other females, since only a few of them could be considered women, had been clothed similarly. The styles ranged from something that belonged in _Arabian Nights_ to traditional Somali clothing, all made out of the barely-there fabric.

Nuri had frozen the second the doors shut behind him, shocked at the sight of the women sprawled out on the giant bed in front of him. The eldest of them stood and walked over to him, her hips swaying in a provocative manner. She had stopped directly in front of him and boldly wound her arms around his neck, pulling him into a fierce kiss. She spent a several minutes trying to get him to react and kiss her back during which another one of the girls pushed up flush against his back and started playing with his trousers.

He hadn't been able to react, his whole mind focused on the squishy bits pushing into him. The woman's breasts in front of him felt huge and bloated, uncomfortable shoved up against his chest. He found it both mildly amusing and disgusting how she had to lean in to get into any contact with him. The girl behind him had been a bit better, her breasts small enough so that they didn't squish up against him. Her chest was almost pleasantly flat, but he could still feel the little lumps of fat in the center of his back.

He finally snapped back to himself when the girl behind him had slipped into his trousers and paused when she came in contact with his limp penis. Unable to take any more he ripped himself out of their arms, schooling his face to show none of his disgust or horror. The females looked at him, utterly perplexed and he ran out.

The guards at his door certainly noticed how he flew out of the room like a bat out of hell and had told his aabbe who found him hiding in his room. After an hour of talking and pushing, his aabbe had eventually gotten some of the story out of him and had laughed for a good ten minutes when he expressed his disgust at the _squishy_ bits. Nuri thought he was going to die of embarrassment. Ever since then they had avoided the topic like the plague. Until now.

Nuri swallowed hard and wiped all the emotion from his face. _"What about it?"_ he asked bitingly.

Idris sat back in his chair, elbows on the armrests and his hands clasped in front of him. _"I have been thinking about it and I believe I know what went wrong,"_ he said plainly, piquing Nuri's interest. _"I have been watching you closely the last two months and have noticed that your eyes linger far longer on the males than strictly necessary, especially on particular areas of their bodies."_

Shocked, Nuri gaped. Was his aabbe inferring that he was _homosexual?_ He wasn't! He couldn't be! He shook his head emphatically, unaware of the terror etched across his face.

_"__Perhaps you find the male form far more pleasing than the female,"_ Idris drawled.

_"__No,"_ he said. _"No, no, no..."_ he shook his head again, trying to clear the images out of his mind. He had successfully blocked his recognition of the fantasies he masturbated to, but with his aabbe's suggestion, they rushed back into his mind. Images of naked chests and silky sheets were overlapped with stones and fire. Fantasies he had had were broken up with memories of stonings and pyres, people that had been executed for far less than the crime of homosexuality. He could smell the flames and hear the crush of bones. He knew what awaited those who deviated in this country.

_"__Nuri... Nuri!"_ a voice shouted, bringing Nuri out of his panic. He saw his aabbe kneeling before him and noticed the arms of the chair underneath his hands smoldering.

_"__Relax, I'm not condemning you. I know what they say. I know they say that homosexuality is wrong. It goes against the Qu'ran, the Torah, the Bible... against God's decree, but I am not a religious man, son. I have lived in places where homosexuals are openly accepted and live without fear."_

Nuri couldn't believe what his aabbe was saying. Gays accepted? That was possible? He had known that his aabbe was... _unusual_ for a Warlord, but this was ridiculous. It went against everything in their culture and in all the religions that could be found in the region.

_"__I accept it and understand, however, that does not mean that you will not marry and sire an heir. As long as you take care of your responsibilities and present a moral face to the public, I do not care what you do in your bedroom,"_ Idris said, keeping his voice as smooth and calming as possible.

All Nuri could do was stare at his aabbe. Was he really saying what he thought he was? That if he was gay, not that he was!, it would be okay?

Idris' face turned stone cold. _"__**However**__, you must keep it __**discreet**__. I don't think I need to tell you what would happen if anyone found out. My influence only reaches so far and I will not be able to protect you if you're stupid and let people know about your... leanings."_

Nuri nodded, the sounds of stones and the scent of flames and burnt flesh still echoing through his head. He knew very well what would happen. It was bad enough that he could perform magic. That could be hidden and was somewhat accepted since Africans still held a lot of magical superstitions, but if he were caught...

_"__Well!"_ Idris said cheerfully, clapping his hands together once. _"Come with me. I have a surprise for you!"_ He stood and walked to the door, expecting Nuri to follow him.

Nuri looked at him curiously and followed him out and down the hallway. He had an inkling of what his aabbe was up to, but wasn't sure.

After a short walk Idris paused in front of a set of doors and turned to him. _"Since you obviously didn't enjoy your birthday present, I thought I would get you another one," _he said, swinging the door open and pushing Nuri inside before closing it on him. It reminded him eerily of his birthday.

Nuri looked around the room and at the group of men scattered around on the bed, the couches and floor. In all there were about eight men. Well, most of them were men. Like the females, a few were too young to classify as 'men', the youngest looking like he was around ten. The males weren't swathed in gauze like the females had been, but instead in loose ma-awis of various colours and fabrics, their chests left bare. The plethora of black and deep brown skin against the bright colours made a spectacular sight. Nuri couldn't help his eyes widening at the display, getting excited despite his nervousness.

The men in the room looked up at him when the door closed, several licking their lips at the sight of him. He was barefoot with simple, loose pants but he had on a tight, stretchy shirt that didn't get in his way and happened to show off a lot of his torso. One of the men who looked to be in his late teens climbed up off the bed and made his way over to Nuri. All Nuri could see was the way the man's muscles flexed and stretched under his dark skin. The man reached him after what felt like an age, tilted his head up and kissed him softly.

It was nothing like kissing the women. His lips felt like they were on fire and directly attached to other erogenous zones on his body and he was lost in pleasure. When the man began to deepen the kiss Nuri snapped out of it and took over, dominating it and the taller man. After several minutes he pulled back and smirked at the dazed expression. He looked around the room at the men in various states of arousal and pointed sharply to the bed. All except the youngest jumped up and ran to the place he pointed and something between a sneer and a smirk curled his lips making him look like the epitome of a predator. This was going to be fun.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** I didn't want to kill Arthur either, but again, with the same reasoning as his daughter, he simply wouldn't be alive without Harry. I do feel bad for the Weasleys though. They're getting chopped to pieces.


	20. Dumbledore, Meet Nuri

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this ;-).

**A/N:** I don't necessarily hold the opinions expressed in this chapter. A lot of the things I'm writing is expressing each side's shortsightedness and arrogance. This is the chapter I've been looking forward to writing since chapter three. Dumbledore, meet Nuri! Enjoy!

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

**

* * *

May 1996**

It was a Saturday night. Albus knew this because he was at Number 12 Grimmauld Place trying to corral a bunch of wayward Order members. One would think he was still at Hogwarts with their behavior.

"Quiet please," he began firmly. "It's time to start the meeting. Sirius, any news on the search for Harry?"

The man in question sighed, shaking his head. If possible, he looked even worse than he did getting out of Azkaban three years previously. His face was pale, almost jaundiced, and his cheeks were hollow. His clothes were in tatters and his hair was ropey. He hadn't been taking care of himself and had obviously been running himself into the ground searching for Harry.

Kingsley Shacklebolt took over for the worn out man, "we have looked through all of Europe, both magical and Muggle. We searched the main wizarding communities in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Tokyo, Hong Kong and Singapore. We found nothing in any of these areas and simply do not have the resources to search outside of the biggest communities."

"It has been ten years, Albus!" Moody growled, his magical eye spinning in its socket, creeping out the less seasoned Order members. "Ten years and no word. For all we know, the boy may be dead!"

A low growl pierced the silence at this proclamation and Moody was pierced with a glare that could kill. "Don't. You. _Dare_ say that, old man..." Sirius snarled.

Albus interrupted before the argument could escalate, "Enough. We know how long it's been, Alastor."

"Albus," Kingsley began. "We simply don't have the resources to continue the search. If he isn't in the main magical areas, it will be impossible to find him. The war is picking up and, despite the prophecy, we need to focus on the problems we have here and keep our ears open for news," the tall dark man said shortly. People around the table were nodding in agreement.

Albus rubbed his face. "Sadly, I believe you are right. Hopefully news of Harry will come, but..."

A loud grating screech interrupted the elderly man. Sirius shoved his chair out from the table, glaring at each person at the table and then abruptly left, silence following in his wake.

As the door slammed behind the man, Albus glanced down the table at a certain werewolf. The golden-eyed man was shifting in his seat and Albus could see the war being waged in the man's eyes. His wolf wanted to find and protect his cub. It clawed at the normally placid man, occasionally tearing growls and grunts from his throat. When he regained control Albus turned back to the Order.

"Now that that's settled, you said you had some news Bill?"

The tall redhead nodded, standing so that everyone could both see and hear him. He had long, messy hair tied back in a queue and his trademark dragon fang hanging from his ear.

"I have news about a potential ally. There have been rumors floating around the Egyptian branch of Gringotts about a scouting mission gone bad. Very bad. After a lot of coercing I managed to convince one of the people working in the filing department to give me a look at the paperwork involving the failed mission.

"To give some background on the incident, there is a land two countries south of Egypt named Somalia. It is situated on what is called the Horn of Africa, surrounded by the Red Sea, the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean. The two main countries bordering it are Ethiopia and Kenya." Bill paused for a moment looking at most of the Order members' confusion. "It is on the eastern edge of Africa," he said, exasperated. When he saw the recognition in their eyes he continued. "For the last five years there has been anarchy and with anywhere from five to ten Warlords at a time vying for power."

"Warlord?" someone Bill couldn't see interrupted.

Bill nodded, "a Warlord is a military leader. The term itself is usually used for men who have their own militia of some sort and hold illegal control over a specific area, usually by bloody means. They are frequent in many areas of Africa." He waited while the people around the room nodded in understanding, more than a few of them looking decidedly disturbed.

"Two months ago the goblins sent in a team of humans to investigate a legend about treasure just outside of their capital, Mogadishu. There is no Muggle government there, nor any magical community to speak of, so the goblins thought nothing of sending a team in without notification." Bill paused to take a sip of water before continuing.

"That ended up being a big mistake. While checking out the site, the team was raided by a group of natives. Normally that is not a problem, all of the humans at Gringotts are trained to handle Muggle military forces, but after the natives noticed that the men were protected against the majority of their weapons, they began using some sort of magic.

"In ten minutes they managed to annihilate the team with a mix of magic and Muggle weaponry. The man that came back, Ash, said that it was a type of magic he had never encountered before. He saw no wands nor had he ever seen such devastating magic. What he described sounds a lot like some of the Death Eaters' more destructive raids. A few of them seemed to have some sort of control over the elements; others used their magic to blow things up and throw large objects at them. At one point they detonated the ground underneath one of the team members, blowing him up in the process... their magic was simplistic, but powerful."

"Wait," Minerva interrupted. "You said 'the man that came back'. One man? What happened to the rest of the team?"

Bill shook his head. "They were all killed. The man that wielded the fire apparently spoke English and told Ash that he was left alive so he could warn whoever sent them not to return."

Exclamations sounded around the room, some people comparing them to Death Eaters while others were just outraged.

"Silence!"

The group quieted and Bill nodded to the head of the table, "Thank you Albus. One of the attackers was particularly dangerous. He stood out due to how pale his skin was compared to the other men of the militia. He wielded both a gun and a level of fire magic Ash had never seen before. He managed to use a wall of fire to absorb some of the spells while sending bullets surrounded by flames that burned through the teams' shields.

"Once Ash returned and gave his report, the goblins did some research. They found a few refugees from Somalia, but once our men described the militia that attacked the team, the majority of them refused to talk to us. A couple of them gave us the name Abri though. Warlord Abri.

"A single elderly man was willing to talk to them about Abri. He became powerful by rather mysterious means. Where other Warlords fell during the civil war they've had in the last 5 years, he survived and even thrived. Many Somalis believe that his son sold his soul to Iblis, the Devil, for special powers. It seems that Abri's son has magic. The goblins believe that because of this, Abri created what sounds like a magical community and seems to have used it to build up his militia.

"It appears to have been very effective, both by the stories we heard and how they massacred our people. Given the description both Ash and the elderly man gave, I believe that Abri's son is the same person that wielded the fire in the attack. The goblins have also came to this conclusion."

When Bill sat, having finished his report, noise broke out across the room. Albus tuned the voices out and scratched at the skin underneath his beard in thought. He let several minutes pass before he addressed the room.

"A magical army created and trained for the sole purpose of war would make a good resource, even if their methods are primitive..."

"Albus!" Minerva exclaimed. "You cannot be thinking..."

Albus raised his hand to silence her. "I am. While we may disagree with their methods, you can't deny that they are obviously effective, at least in their battles with Muggles. They would probably have to be trained a bit and we'd have to teach them a more effective method of tapping their magic, but they could be of use to us." He paused and tugged on his beard in thought, "Besides. If we have heard about them, Voldemort probably has as well and we don't want them to be swayed over to his side."

There was a lot of grumbling around the room, but no one was willing to go against the leader of the Light.

The old man turned back to the redhead, "Bill. Do you think you would be able to get us a meeting with this Warlord Abri?"

Bill looked at Albus warily. Based on the stories he had heard, he did not want to interact with the Warlord or his militia, but if it was needed... "I may be able to. I will have to speak with one of the men that ran the investigation."

"Good!" Albus clapped. "Now, who will come with me? Minerva?"

"No," Bill cut in sharply. "No women. From what I understand of their culture, they will not do business with a woman."

"What?"

"What do you..."

"Horrible..."

"Quiet!" Albus ordered and then turned to Bill. "So be it. Bill, since you brought this information and will be setting up the meeting, you will be coming. Kingsley, Severus?"

The two men nodded, the latter obviously very reticent.

"Perhaps Sirius would like to come along as well..." he said to himself. Albus nodded his head and turned to the two men, "Very well. I will contact you two after Bill sets up the meeting. Continuing on..."

**

* * *

June 1996**

_"__Nuri, please come in."_

Nuri stepped into his aabbe's office. It wasn't unheard of for his aabbe to call him for a meeting in the middle of the day, particularly when he knew that Nuri was busy with the militia, but it was unusual enough to pique Nuri's curiosity.

_"__Have a seat,"_ Idris said, gesturing to the chair across from him. Instead of sitting behind his usual desk, he was sitting at a small table next to a window sipping his shaah. Idris offered Nuri a cup before sitting back in his chair and staring out the window.

Nuri let his aabbe sit in silence for a while until curiosity got the better of him. _"Father, what was it you wished to speak to me about?"_

Idris turned back to Nuri and set down his cup before answering Nuri. _"What do you know of magic outside of Somalia?"_ he asked.

Nuri furrowed his eyebrows, _"Very little. Honestly I had never thought about it before. Is this about those idiots that we killed three months ago? The little lungs shouldn't have come here."_

Idris shook his head, _"No. It is not about that, although I believe that situation was the reason they know of us. These men are magical Englishmen coming to negotiate for help in their war."_

Raising an eyebrow, Nuri asked, _"War? What war could such prissy men get into?"_

Idris smiled, _"From what I understand, a 'Dark Lord' was recently resurrected and is now trying to annihilate a good portion of their population and take over their government."_

_"__Dark Lord? Resurrected? What sort of devilish magic is that?"_ Nuri sneered. _"And why should we help them? It just sounds like a Warlord trying to gain power. Why would you set up such a meeting? If they're not capable of handling such a threat, then maybe they need a new ruling clan."_

_"__It does sound like that, doesn't it?"_ Idris mused. _"Well, the Englishmen don't appear used to such a thing, much less accepting of it. Nonetheless, I set up the meeting to see just what they can offer us. Since they're not from Africa, they may have different magics and may be able to teach us. We could see how they structure their community and maybe learn how to expand ours. They may be a good resource. And if all they want in return is war... well I dare say we can handle that."_

Nuri nodded. _"So, when will they be arriving?"_

_"__The meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon. I will send for you when they get here,"_ Idris said plainly, picking his shaah back up.

_"__Yes, Father. I will be here."_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore didn't know what he expected from Somalia, but what he had seen thus far certainly wasn't it. Upon the Warlord's demand, they had Portkeyed into an abandoned building a couple blocks away from his manor and had to make their way to the compound on foot.

In all of his 115 long years Albus had never seen a level of destruction on par with Mogadishu. Most of its walls and buildings were in rubble and the people that walked around the city were almost like ghosts. Their clothing was ill-fitting and often in tatters that hung off their gaunt bodies. It was a level of famine that Albus had never before seen and a standard of living he could never have imagined.

He was shocked a second time when they were ushered into Warlord Abri's compound. While on the outside of the walls it looked like the apocalypse had come and gone, inside it almost looked like they were in Scotland or England again. The décor was certainly different than back home, and there were men wandering around with strange metal contraptions, but the overall wealth and upkeep was on par with what would be found there. He noticed that Severus looked oddly disturbed at the sight of the peculiar metal devices, but the other wizards simply looked confused. The compound itself looked much different than the rest of the city and that in itself disturbed the old man even more. What sort of man would live in such splendor in the middle of such squalor?

They were escorted by what Albus supposed were armed men into the manor and told to hand over any and all weapons they carried. Severus and Kingsley both gave up the few knives they kept on themselves but none of them handed their wands over. They knew that these wizards used magic without wands and would thusly have no idea what they could do; they didn't want to risk going into such a dangerous place unarmed.

Once satisfied, the guards guided them through hallways that reminded Albus of the one time he had been in Malfoy manor. Expensive artwork lined the gilded walls and he couldn't help but wonder just how much money this Warlord had. Did he really want to make a deal with a man who lived in riches amongst people who were starving? He shook his head and shoved the thought aside. They were not doing well in the war and needed help. Not to mention, he could not allow these people to be courted by Voldemort.

After several minutes they finally came upon a large set of doors. One of the guards knocked and waited for the foreign words to make their way through the door before opening it. The guard signaled for them to step inside and closed the door behind them.

"Please, come in," a man from behind the desk said in thick, rolling tones. He had dark skin, even darker than Kingsley's, and a thick scar across his wide nose and prominent cheekbones. He was clothed in a high quality suit, very different from the clothing he had seen the people in the streets wearing. His head was shaved and his thick lips were tilted upwards in a parody of a smile. "Have a seat," the man gestured to the five chairs set before the large desk. Albus couldn't help but notice that his left pinky finger was missing. Unusual.

"My name is Idris Nasri Abri, but you may call me Idris," the dark man said simply, sitting back down in his chair.

Albus nodded to him and took a seat. "Thank you for meeting with us, Idris. My name is Albus Dumbledore and these men are Severus Snape, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sirius Black and William Weasley." Each man nodded in turn as they were introduced.

"It is nice to meet you all. I apologize, but we will have to wait on my son. He got tied up with our militia, but he should be here soon. Would you like some tea while we wait?" he asked, the picture of politeness.

Albus and Bill accepted while the other men declined. The group of them sat in awkward silence; well, awkward for everyone but the Warlord who looked perfectly content to be sitting there staring at them.

Albus took the chance to look around the room as he sipped his tea. Men stood along the walls at regular intervals with the metal contraptions, guns, Albus finally remembered, in their hands. Not that he remembered what the guns could _do_. He couldn't help but wonder which ones were wizards and which ones weren't. The walls of the office were covered in bookshelves, something the old man didn't expect of a Warlord. Most of the titles he could see were in languages he didn't recognize, some with a flowing script and others with Roman letters. He was curious as to what kind of books a Warlord read.

He was brought out of his musings by the door opening. The Warlord stood and smiled, "Ah son, I see you have finally decided to join us!"

Albus turned in his seat to see a group of men come in. Most of them were clad like the guards in the room, but the one in the front wore loose linen pants with a simple black tank top. His arms were bare, showcasing the markings on his right arm. The scars formed the image of flames licking up his arm from elbow to shoulder and a snake had been carved into his forearm. Albus was suspicious that the flames had to do with the boy's reported control over fire, but he had no idea what the snake meant. A gun was slung across his back and he had strings of some sort of small cigar shaped objects wrapped across his chest.

The boy stepped around the desk to embrace the Warlord, his father. He said something to the man in a language Albus didn't recognize before turning to face them. The child looked to be around 14 or 15 and rather short in stature, especially standing next to the Warlord. His skin was very light compared to the other men in the room, but much darker than any of the Englishmen, save Kingsley. The boy's long black hair was tied into a queue at the base of his neck, the ends reaching down to the middle of his back. Oddly familiar Avada green eyes stood out from his face, very different from the dark brown and hazel eyes of all the men they had met thus far. Beside him, Severus gasped.

Albus couldn't help but wonder just who the child was. He looked so different from the Warlord and while it is possible that he could take after his mother, it was unlikely that he would look so unlike his father.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the boy said, his accent even thicker than his father's. "My name is Nuri Idris Nasri. I apologize for being late, but I had to discipline some of the recruits," his thick rolling tones were far warmer than his cold eyes. He brushed back the bangs that fell into them, baring his forehead. His... _scarred _forehead.

Albus' eyes widened as he took in the angry red scar that marred the boy's forehead. A scar in the shape of a lightening bolt. He heard two more gasps next to him but they didn't register as he stood up.

"H-Harry..." Sirius stuttered before leaping from his seat and rushing around the desk towards Nuri.

Albus could not have predicted what happened next. The room went from silence to utter chaos in a matter of moments. The Warlord was immediately out of his seat and in front of his son, who had drawn his gun, with a vicious glare on his face while two of the guards grabbed Sirius and threw him to the ground. Kingsley reached for his wand to protect Sirius and all of the guards in the room trained their contraptions, guns, on them. Severus pulled his wand out when the guns pointed at them and the guards were shouting at them in languages Albus didn't even recognize, much less understand. He pulled out his wand, prepared for a confrontation, but unsure where the magic would come from, when a voice resounded through the room.

"Sheel! Sheel! توقف! Stop!" The Warlord stood in the room, looking furious and every inch the warlord he was. "Enough!"

Harry... Nuri stepped forward, saying something rapid in the odd language before turning to them. "You were told to hand over your weapons before you came into this meeting and based on how you are wielding those... sticks, I imagine those can be considered weapons." He stared at each of them with cold, penetrating eyes. "You have violated the agreement and are to hand them over immediately."

None of the wizards made a move, both scared and unwilling to give up their only protection in a hostile environment.

"Very well," Nuri said with a strange gleam in his eyes. He slung his gun back over his shoulder and turned his arms so that the palms faced them. Albus could feel the magic shifting in the room and his wand began to heat up rapidly. Before he could blink, his wand was on fire. He quickly focused his magic to douse the flames and while he kept his wand, his hand was badly burnt. He heard twin cries from Bill and Kingsley and the distinct clatter of their wands hitting the ground. Sirius was on the ground so he didn't have his wand in hand but Severus did. It appeared that he had done the same thing as Albus, but not as quickly as evidenced by the blackening of his skin. He looked at Bill and Kingsley's wands and noticed that despite the flames and burnt skin, the wands themselves were unhurt.

"Drop your sticks," an icy voice demanded. Albus looked at Bill and Kingsley who had refused to leave their wands even though they couldn't touch them. "Drop them and step away or I will turn them into ash," the voice, Nuri, growled. The flames surrounding the wands flashed a bit higher and both men quickly backed off, allowing a guard to collect the two burning wands. While the wizards had all been burnt, the guard wasn't injured by the flames.

Albus knew that the meeting was not going well. He needed to defuse and gain control over the situation. Perhaps if he performed Legilimency he would be able to calm the boy down enough to let him keep his wand and maybe he could also find out just where the child had been. Albus looked Harry straight in the eyes and whispered "_Legilimens_."

He slipped into the child's mind before finding himself thrown to the ground. He opened his eyes and instead of carpet he saw... dirt? He looked around and found himself in a forest. A redwood forest, if his memory served him. All of the trees looked alike, each roughly ten feet from one another. Utterly shocked, he stood up and walked over to one of the trees. The bark was even and showed no defining characteristics, but the furrows had a strange sheen to them. Before he could look any closer a thick bank of fog swept through, surrounding him until he couldn't see further than two feet in front of him.

He whipped around when he heard something rustle from behind him, but he saw nothing. He took a step forward but immediately became disoriented. He turned back around and realized that he could no longer see the tree he had been next to. He took a few steps forward, expecting to run into it but found nothing.

He heard the rustling again, except closer and to his right, but he couldn't see anything. He could hear a low growl as the ...thing... came closer. He felt fear for the first time in decades and sweat began to drip down his wrinkled forehead. His hand made an aborted movement towards the wand he knew wasn't there and began backing up. For each step he took the unknown beast took two until it sounded like he was right in front of him.

Suddenly, the fog disappeared and Albus saw the creature that was stalking him. A large wolf with blood red eyes and coarse, black fur snarled at him before leaping. He cried and frantically backpedaled but tripped over a rock. The beast was on him in an instant, his claws ripping into his arms before he was abruptly thrown out of the forest and found himself scrambling on a carpeted floor.

Albus looked up to see Nuri's eyes narrowed. "I must demand that you never attempt that again, lest something more... serious happens," he smirked, gesturing to his arm. Albus looked down to see the arm of his robe ripped open and a deep gash running down his forearm where the wolf had attacked him. As he looked down at the wound an intense pain flared in his arm and he couldn't help the cry it elicited. As quickly as it came, it was gone again and he looked back down to see that his arm had be cauterized and was likely to scar badly, but it was no longer bleeding.

"Last chance. Turn over your sticks," Nuri demanded.

Albus looked up at the boy that vaguely looked like Harry. The scar and the color of the eyes matched the missing boy, but the coldness of his eyes and his aggressive stance looked nothing like either Lily or James. He could see the viciousness that was barely concealed behind the boy's eyes. No, nothing like Lily and James. But they needed Harry...

"Very well," he said, nodding before standing as gracefully as he could with the pain in his arm. He offered his wand to the nearest guard who grabbed it roughly. He turned to Severus who was eying the guns as if they were going to come alive and eat him. "Severus..."

The hook-nosed man turned to Albus and glared but he still turned to hand his wand to a guard. He growled as the guard manhandled it but was quickly quieted when the guns were pointed in his face again.

"Now, sit!" Nuri growled. He signaled the guards to collect Sirius' wand before forcibly returning him to his chair.

The Warlord nodded to his son before retaking his seat. Nuri took up a position standing to the right and slightly behind him with his gun in his hands, alert and obviously angry.

"Let us be frank," the Warlord began, his face and voice both cold. "Who is my son to you?" he asked, pointedly looking at Albus.

Albus sighed, "He's Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Savior of the Wizarding World."

Nuri snorted, "Boy-Who-Lived? What sort of name is that?"

Albus allowed himself to slip into the comforting role of a teacher. "In the Wizarding world there are three curses known as the Unforgivables. The first one causes unimaginable pain and the second allows the caster control over the victim. Both can be blocked to some degree if a person has enough will power and a lot of experience. The last one, however, cannot be blocked. It is known as the Killing Curse and you are the only survivor to have ever existed."

Nuri lifted an eyebrow. "Really," he drawled. "Could not someone be more original than the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?"

Opting to ignore the remark, Albus continued his explanation. "Your... son is famous in our world. He is a household name and revered for getting rid of Voldemort."

"Idolized for something I can not remember and frankly don't care about. How quaint," the green-eyed boy sneered.

Idris shook his head and looked at Albus straight in the eyes, "And...?"

"And?" Albus mimicked, nonplussed. "And he needs training!"

"Oh really," Nuri said, amusement lacing his tone. He slung his gun back over his shoulder and raised his scarred arm until his hand was in front of his face.. Albus watched as he blew on his palm until a lone spark became a quaffle-sized ball of flame. The boy looked up, smirked at them and tossed the fire towards Sirius. Before they could do anything, the flames reached Sirius before going _through_ the ex-convict and quickly turning the chair to ash. Sirius squawked and fell to the floor with a dull thud drawing a snicker from both Severus and Nuri.

The Warlord turned to Harry, saying something in rapid, flowing words. The boy looked chastened by whatever his father had said, replying in turn and Albus wished he could understand just what they were saying to one another. He had not been able to find a translation charm for the native language and while he had heard two different languages, he had no idea what the other one was. Before he could finish that thought both father and son turned back to them.

"As you can see, I hardly need training," Nuri said, gesturing to the ashes Sirius still sat in before waving his hand at them, the ashes vanishing out from underneath Sirius. A few words in the foreign language had one of the guards coming forward with an extra chair for the fallen man.

Albus shook his head, barely refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, you at least need wand training..."

"And just what are wands?" Nuri asked, the slightest bit of curiosity showing in his tone.

He smiled and answered, "Wands are magical items used to channel our magic. They are made out of wood and the center, the core, is comprised of a part of a magical creature, such as a hair or a feather."

"Discounting the fact that that sounds barbaric, why would I need training with these items?" Nuri questioned with obvious distaste.

Albus looked confused, unused to being questioned. "Well, because you're a wizard," he said simply.

Nuri raised an eyebrow, "I am an Adept, Albus Dumbledore, and I have no need for wands. They seem to only be crutches since you five appear to be useless without them."

Albus took a moment to pull himself together. He needed to regain his calm if he had any chance of taking control of the conversation. "I would imagine that there are things you can do with a wand that you cannot do without as a... Adept you said?"

"Yes, Adept. An Adept is a person with magics. Why have I not heard from you before, if you proclaim me a wizard?" Nuri inquired, his face blank.

Albus shook his head, "I don't know what happened. We sent an owl inviting you to Hogwarts when you were eleven, but it obviously never reached you."

This time Idris interrupted, "Owl?"

Nodding, Albus replied, "Yes, owl. That is how we send our mail."

"For your mail?" Nuri asked with obvious disgust. "Why should I go to a school in a world who uses animals for wands and mail service," he sneered.

Albus didn't quite know what to say. When he had imagined finding Harry and bringing him home he had never imagined a situation like this.

For the first time one of the other wizards interrupted. "You are the only one that can beat You-Know-Who. We _need_ you," Bill implored.

Albus twitched at Bill's statement. He really didn't want to bring that up.

But Nuri's eyes caught that anyway. "You... _need_ me? And just why is that?"

Albus interrupted before Bill could say something damaging again, "You are seen as our savior and our only hope against Voldemort. You are powerful, as evidenced over your control of fire." He hoped that explanation would suffice and failed to see the glances Bill and Kingsley sent his way, glances that neither Nuri or Idris missed.

"Somehow," Idris drawled, "I do not believe that is the only reason."

"Don't you want to protect your homeland? Your parents' homeland?" Albus implored, trying to pull the conversation away from that subject.

Nuri raised an eyebrow, an expression eerily reminiscent of the Malfoys. "My biological parents are dead and this is my father's homeland, and mine. You would do well to not forget that I am Somali, not British." There was an edge of danger there that nobody missed. Albus noticed that a few of the guards actually shuddered at the coldness in Nuri's voice. An odd reaction to a child.

"I think you would do well to stop hedging and tell us what we want to know, Albus Dumbledore" said Idris.

Nuri's eyes were positively frigid and held a gleam that Albus had not seen from anyone aside from Tom Riddle. For the first time in over a decade he was wary and almost afraid.

For several long seconds they stared at each other before Albus finally relented. He had no choice; they needed him and he knew the boy at least would settle for nothing less than full disclosure.

"In 1979 a prophecy was made involving Voldemort and an unknown child. Based on the text it could have been one of two children, you and one other. The prophecy says that that child would be the only one capable of killing Voldemort," he sighed.

"You are saying you believe that based on some sort of... I believe you call it divination? I am the only one that can beat this Voldemort?" Nuri asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. Albus nodded reluctantly and Nuri continued, "What makes you think it is me and not the other child?"

"It is you, there is no doubt."

"How about you tell us just what this... _prophecy_ states," Idris demanded.

Albus sighed inwardly. In for a knut...

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." Albus ignored the disbelieving looks from his companions and watched the Somalis' faces for any sort of reaction.

"And why is it that you think it is me?"

"Your parents both defied and escaped Voldemort three times and you were born at the end of July. More importantly, the prophecy states that the child will be marked by the Dark Lord. The mark on your forehead, the one you got the night your parents were murdered..."

"Wait," Nuri interrupted sharply, anger and disbelief warring on his face. "What do you mean _murdered_. I was told they died in a car crash."

Albus sat back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked up and saw fury on both the Warlord and his son's faces. "Yes, murdered. After the prophecy was made and the children identified, Voldemort found where your parents were hiding and attacked. He killed both your mother and father, but when he cast the Killing Curse on you it reflected back and destroyed him instead; thus the scar on your forehead."

Nuri turned to his father and began speaking in a rapid language Albus did not know. They exchanged a rather heated argument before the Warlord nodded and gestured for Nuri to continue.

"Very well," Nuri said, turning back to face them. "I can see why you need me, but why should I care about a world that left me with the Dursleys?" His face was completely devoid of all emotion.

Albus furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "They were the only family left to you."

"Right," Nuri scoffed. "And nobody thought to check up on me? Where exactly were you when they beat me and used me as a servant?"

Albus shook his head in disbelief. "They wouldn't do that, they were your family."

"Regardless of who they were, they did," Nuri responded flatly.

Albus didn't know what to say to this. He couldn't imagine a family treating their own in such a way and had no response to give them. He thought briefly about what they found eight years previously at Privet Drive and dismissed it. Harry wouldn't have done that, would he?

"Let us get back to the reason for this meeting," Idris interrupted, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the desk. "You came here for help with this Voldemort problem, correct?" At Albus' blank nod he continued. "Why should we help you? Especially if it puts my son in danger."

"You must!" Bill exclaimed. "You're our only hope... you can't leave us to this fate!"

Idris raised an eyebrow at the redhead's outburst. "Really now. And why should we care about a world that would leave a child to the fate of a slave? It sounds like your world needs a change anyway."

Albus gaped, unsure of how to respond to such callous indifference, particularly since it seemed rather hypocritical.

"How about an exchange," Severus smoothly interrupted.

Idris smiled and everyone in the group suppressed a shudder; it was truly a disturbing sight.

"That is more like it," the Warlord responded. "Nothing is free after all. We will start with your requests first and then we'll talk about what you can offer us."

Albus attempted to collect himself but was grateful when Severus took over the conversation.

"Your... son needs to come to Hogwarts for training, and to fight since he's the prophesied child. We want mercenaries for skirmishes and an army for the inevitable final battle," Severus replied blandly.

Idris looked at the stoic man, "Is that it?"

"More or less," Albus said, having regained his footing.

"Well, that may be reasonable, provided you concede to our demands. We want magical training for our Adepts with a focus on them being able to teach in turn. You will teach us to make these, wands," he said, gesturing to the sticks the guards had put on his desk, "and we want wands for our current Adepts and Elders. If Nuri is to be attending your school, we want _full_ magical training, not just what you think is acceptable for children to learn. I would imagine that you have a magical equivalent to military. He is to learn whatever he can about your battle magics and tactics. Additional protection will be sent with Nuri for his safety and he is to be able to leave your school when needed. Neither are negotiable." Idris listed off their demands without emotion.

Albus had known that the Warlord would come to this meeting prepared, but he didn't expect him to have his demands drawn out. He thought that he would have time to influence and minimize the man's requirements.

"Most importantly," Idris continued, "we require a free hand while there. I imagine that we do things a little differently here and I do not care to deal with any arguments that may crop up."

"And I do not want to wear those horrible dresses you have on," Nuri added.

Albus balked. "You can't believe that we will fulfill all of those requirements, or that I'm even able to approve all of those demands."

"Oh, I believe you are qualified. Why would you come here to negotiate if you do not have the authority? Besides," Idris smirked, "You need Nuri. By no means do we need you."

* * *

Severus Snape hadn't wanted to come to this meeting. He had no interest in meeting with what seemed like the Muggle equivalent of a Dark Lord, but Albus had insisted. They had taken a Portkey to Somalia and he immediately wished he had refused the Headmaster.

He had no words to describe Mogadishu. The sheer level of destruction surpassed even the worst revels he had attended. Some of the streets, if one could call them that, had been reduced to rubble, and even the most stable buildings looked like they were about to collapse. To say that he was disturbed would have been an understatement.

His opinion of the trip worsened when they had reached the Warlord's manor. As a half-blood he recognized the weapons the guards carried and easily drew a connection between these men and the destruction in the city. He was sure that these men were responsible for at least some of the destruction in the city.

He also knew that even with their magic, the guns could easily kill the entire group. The Wizarding world had always looked down on the Muggles and had thusly never created anything to counteract their weapons; a serious oversight in Severus' opinion, but he was a Potions Master, not a Charms Master, and thus unable to create such a shield. He knew that the only chance they would have with the sheer number of guards around would be to apparate out and pray that the guards' trigger fingers weren't faster than their spells.

He had remained as quiet and unobtrusive as possible as they were lead through the manor and into the Warlord's study, keeping his eyes open and taking in the opulence of their surroundings. He sat when invited and nodded when introduced, but otherwise made himself inconspicuous. He was a good listener and watcher, two essential skills for a spy. He spent the quiet moments waiting for the Warlord's son observing the room and its occupants. The luxuriousness of the study was disturbing in light of the ruins outside of the compound's walls.

The Warlord himself was every inch of what he expected. Well built with a sharp presence in the room. He was well dressed and projected wealth and class in the way he spoke and moved. But there was an air of danger, a certain capacity for violence around him that was only heightened by the vicious scar across his face. He had been pulled away from his observations when a door opened, letting in a group of armed men. They were obviously expected given the Warlord's warm greeting.

Severus did not know what to expect of the Warlord's son, but it wasn't this. Even before he recognised the boy he was shocked by the number of weapons he carried. The boy held himself like a noble but moved like a predator. He was certainly not someone he wanted to cross.

But when the child looked up and pierced him with those unmistakable Avada eyes, Lily's eyes, he knew. He _knew_ and gasped at the realization. It couldn't be... it couldn't be _her_ child. Not here. Not like this. Lily's child wouldn't look like this and carry those weapons so easily. But despite the color of the child's skin and his build, he could see the hints of Potter. The barely tamed hair as well as the structure of the boy's face looked very similar to his father's and Severus suspected they would have been twins had the boy grown up in England. But, above it all, the eyes were unmistakable. He knew who the boy was even before the others saw the scar.

Severus was so shocked that he didn't notice Black's stupidity. Before he knew what happened, guns were trained on them and his wand was on fire. He quickly whispered a smothering spell but his hand was still severely burnt. He was glad he always carried an assortment of potions on him.

He wondered where the flames had come from and was again appalled to find out it came from the Potter boy. Upon Albus' insistence he relinquished his wand, although it had more to do with the number of guns trained on him than the Headmaster. He sat back down, pulling out a jar of burn salve and listened to the ensuing conversation with half an ear as he rubbed the cream into his hand and allowed his mind to wander.

Even through his shock he was curious. How did the boy end up here of all places? And where did he get all the designs on his arm? Severus had never seen anything like them before. Tattoos, certainly, but not scars. It seemed barbaric to intentionally scar oneself and he was curious as to why the child would do such a thing.

He finally came back to the conversation when he heard Bill's outrage.

"You must!" Bill exclaimed. "You're our only hope... you can't leave us to this fate!"

The Warlord seemed unimpressed. "Really now. And why should we care about a world that would leave a child to the fate of a slave? It sounds like your world needs a change anyway."

Severus could see that the Headmaster had no response to this, but he understood. The ex-Gryffindor would have no concept of quid pro quo, something that was familiar among Slytherins. "How about an exchange," Severus smoothly interrupted.

"That is more like it," the Warlord responded, appraising Severus. "Nothing is free after all. We will start with your requirements first and then we'll talk about what you can offer us."

"Your... son needs to come to Hogwarts for training, and to fight since he's the prophesied child. We want mercenaries for skirmishes and an army for the inevitable final battle," he said with as little emotion as possible.

The Warlord looked at him, "Is that it?"

Severus was glad when Albus took over the conversation. He had no interest in drawing this Dark Lord's attention. He listened carefully to the Warlord's demands, thinking them excessive but understandable, and he knew that despite any reservations he may have, Albus would comply all the same. The man was incapable of bargaining.

"Most importantly," the Warlord said, "we require a free hand while there. I imagine that we do things a little differently here and I do not care to deal with any arguments that may crop up."

Only Severus' training as a spy kept him from gaping. Surely Albus knew better... but when he looked at the Headmaster he knew that he would agree.

"Albus," Severus smoothly interjected. "May I have a word?"

The elder man nodded and excused himself. Once the two men were out of earshot Severus rounded on the man.

"You cannot possibly be thinking of agreeing to this. Do you have any idea what giving them a free hand would do?"

"Now my dear boy, I don't see how it could be all that bad," Albus placated.

"Do you even remember what Bill told us about the Gringotts employees? Did you not see the sheer level of destruction in this city? These men are not like us. They will see no problem with killing whomever gets in their way and taking whatever they want." Severus kept his voice low and level, hoping that he could reason with the Headmaster.

Albus scoffed, "I can't imagine that anyone would abuse such a privilege. If anything, the Death Eaters will have more problems if these men don't have to worry about the Ministry crawling all over them."

Severus stared at the old man with wide eyes before closing them and shaking his head. The idiot. "You think too highly of people, Headmaster. Mark my words, this will not turn out well."

Albus smiled and waved off his concerns. "Do not worry about it, my boy. Everything will turn out just fine."

The two men made their way back to the desk and retook their seats.

"I believe your demands to be reasonable. Instead of a normal contract, I would like for us to swear a Wizard's Oath," Albus said, taking control of the conversation.

Or so he thought.

"We would prefer a blood contract," Nuri smoothly interrupted, ignoring the shocked looks the five British wizards were giving him. "We find it easier to hash out all the particulars and far more effective to sign deals in such a way."

Severus could honestly say that despite everything he had seen so far, he hadn't expected that. Although, in hindsight, he should have.

"B-but, that's blood magic!" Sirius exclaimed, giving the first signs of life since he had lunged for his godson.

Nuri looked at the man with a raised brow, "And? It is effective."

"But, it's Dark magic!"

"I am not familiar with this 'Dark magic', but it is effective and if you want our help, you will sign it." Nuri's tone brooked no argument.

Severus thought the Headmaster mad for even considering the terms laid out by the Warlord and his... son. The old man believed too highly in the good of all people, having no understanding for or consideration of other situations and backgrounds. He _knew_ this was not going to end well.

The Warlord, Nuri and Dumbledore spent the next half hour writing out the contract to their specifications before signing it. Severus watched the proceedings closely because blood magic was so rarely used in the wizarding world and thusly there was not much information on it. Eventually the contract was signed with a rather copious amount of blood for Sirius or Bill's tastes, although Severus was used to it from his Death Eater days.

Albus smiled for the first time since getting there. "Now that that's finished, I will be sending a list of the books and supplies you need for the upcoming school year with Emmaline Vance, the woman who will be teaching you basic wand work this summer so you won't be completely lost once you get to Hogwarts. She will also be your guide around Diagon Alley."

Severus noticed that the Headmaster seemed to regain his obnoxiously cheerful demeanor once they signed the contract.

The elder man handed them a two foot length of rope. "This is a Portkey to Diagon Alley, the main shopping center and a place you can find all your needed supplies. To activate it just say 'Chocolate Frogs' and it will take you directly to a charming pub named 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Ms. Vance will help you once you get there.

"This," he said, handing them a silver token with a clown face on it, "is your Portkey to get to King's Cross station. Make sure you have everything you're taking with you on you or it will be left behind. To activate it say 'Rainbow Taffy'. You are to be at the train station by 11 am on the 1st of September. The train will leave promptly at eleven to take you to Hogwarts, so don't be late!"

The Warlord and his son both nodded to the batty old man. "I will see you on the 1st then, Headmaster," the boy said smoothly. Severus did not like the look in the child's eyes and just knew that things would not be turning out the way the Headmaster expected.

**

* * *

Shaah:** Tea

**Sheel:** Stop; halt

**توقف:** Stop (hopefully the right form)


	21. Diagon Alley

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. If that were true, I'd be FAR too busy to be writing this.

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait? I have my reasons, among which include pneumonia and a stolen car, not to mention the writer's block, so I have to say I don't feel _too_ badly. By the way: never catch pneumonia. It just doesn't go away... first it's 3-4 weeks of bed rest, then another 2-3 weeks until the infection is completely cleared. _Then_ it's highly likely you have another 4-6 weeks of lung inflammation. Life has sucked.

_"__Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**August 1996**

The sensation was unpleasant, to say the least. Nuri didn't know what was worse: having the people crowded in close to him so that they could all touch the two feet of rope the old man had given them, or horrible yanking he felt behind his bellybutton when the Vance woman shouted something about candied amphibians. Portkeys, he decided, were vile things.

Because of their extensive military training, everyone landed on their feet. It did not, however, keep two of the guards from promptly vomiting. Nuri could hardly blame them considering he wanted to do the same thing himself.

"Ms. Vance," Idris drawled in his rolling tones. "Please do not tell me that all of your methods of travel resemble that one." Only after years of living with his aabbe could Nuri hear the disgust underlying his words.

The normally dignified woman patted her greying curls back into place before responding. "Well, I do prefer apparition over Portkeys myself, but it's downright dangerous to apparate that far. I don't fancy getting myself spliched!"

Nuri raised an eyebrow at the excitable woman. He had yet to get used to her despite having worked with her for the better part of the previous two months. She was far more... _enthusiastic _than any of the Somalis. While he listened to her lessons intently, he found it rather hard not to sneer at each exclamation point that came out of her mouth.

Barely able to keep the contempt from showing on his face, Nuri turned to distract himself by observing the dingy room they had landed in. It appeared to be the main room of the pub Vance had told them about. The Leaky Cauldron. The room was dark, the floor and walls covered with a deep brown wood. The film over the few windows kept the sun from infiltrating the room so the only light came from a scant number of candles, something Nuri was unsure he'd ever get used to. He had learned the hard way about how badly magic interacted with electricity a month prior when he tried to use his magic to turn on the radio. It _was_ a rather magnificent explosion, but his aabbe had made it quite clear that he wasn't to do it again.

They had chosen to come to Diagon Alley early, so the pub was empty save a lone man eating a meal at the counter, but even now Nuri could see just how much their group would stick out. While Vance wore what he assumed to be a standard set of robes, the rest of their group was wearing both western and traditional Somali clothing. Muggle clothing, Nuri supposed. His aabbe was wearing his typical business outfit, nice slacks and a button up with a jacket, standard for the business world. What wasn't standard was the slight bulge at his side and the creases in the shoulders of his jacket from the holster strapped around his chest. The guards and Mujahid all wore combat gear and while they weren't carrying as much ammunition as they would at home, they all had assault rifles slung across their backs.

Nuri had opted to wear more traditional clothing, a colorful ma-awis over his normal combat pants and a plain black shirt with his hair pulled back in its normal queue. He had his AR-15 strapped across his back and the Firestar he was given for his birthday. The Firestar was among the smallest of its caliber and fit so well strapped to his calf underneath his ma-awis. It quickly became his favorite gun. His aabbe had the same model strapped under his jacket.

Regardless of how civilized the area might be, they were still traveling to an unknown place. In 'Muggle' London they wouldn't dare carry such artillery, but after speaking extensively with Vance about the state of the Wizarding world and their laws both Nuri and Idris were positive that there was nothing preventing them from carrying whatever weapons they wished. And if nothing else, their contract with Dumbledore would allow it.

Ohin was the only one of their group not armed, although that was unsurprising. The elderly man was dressed traditionally, wearing a ma-awis and cotton shirt that matched his pale blue eyes. While Ohin stuck out wherever else he went, Nuri had a feeling he would fit right in here.

"Come along, come along!" the perpetually perky Vance practically sang. Nuri suspected that she was quite happy to be back in her own world. "The entrance is this way!"

The group followed the woman to the back of the pub into a little alcove that only fit half of them at a time. Nuri raised an eyebrow when Vance began tapping the brick wall with her wand and the other eyebrow joined it when the bricks began moving.

"Here we are," Vance smiled as the bricks moved into place. "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

"If you don't mind the question, Ms. Vance, why the doorway?" Ohin asked genially.

"Well, it's to protect the Alley, of course! Can't have just anyone wandering in, can you?" she exclaimed.

Nuri cocked his head slightly to the side. "Just who are you protecting the Alley from? From what you have told me it's not like non-magical folk can even see the pub, so they shouldn't be able just to walk into it," he drawled.

Vance's smile became decidedly strained, a sight Nuri had become accustomed to. She had not adjusted well to their country and Nuri often heard her muttering to herself about backwards cultures and misogynists. He found it all quite amusing, really, and took pleasure in provoking her, out of earshot of Ohin and his aabbe of course.

"This way, please," Vance said, her voice noticeably colder.

Nuri smirked and followed her through the doorway. She lead their group through a rather deserted cobblestone street. He had to watch his step not to be tripped by the random stones sticking up out of the ground. Most of the colorful stores that lined the street were closed or just beginning to open, but they held the most fantastical things in the window. Nuri did his best not to be sidetracked by the odd knicknacks, brooms and animals in the windows lining the street. He was distracted enough that he almost didn't notice Vance suddenly stop and barely avoided colliding into her.

"Here we are!" she exclaimed. "Our first stop: Gringotts."

Nuri looked up at the rather large building in front of them. Made out of bright white marble, the building stood out from the rather dingy street. The white stairs led up to large bronze doors flanked by short, ugly... things.

"Goblins," Vance said decisively. "They run the bank. Rather nasty creatures, really, but good with money, they are." She nodded and began to climb the stairs, the group slowly following. It seemed Nuri wasn't the only one wary of these wrinkled creatures.

As they approached the goblins, Nuri watched them look over their group, obviously assessing them for danger. Despite their banking nature, Nuri could see the warriors in their build, their aggressive stances only confirming his thoughts. It was obvious the goblins saw the same thing in them because they grew wary, shifting on their feet with their eyes narrowed. They barely glanced over their guns, obviously dismissing them in the way the wizards seemed apt to do.

Overall, Nuri was impressed by the goblins' expediency. There were several tense moments at the start of their visit when the creatures connected them with their slaughtered treasure scouts in Somalia, but the situation was easily ignored in the face of new money. Despite the fact that Nuri learned that he apparently had a trust vault that he could access, they still opened a new account with a good number of... galleons. That's not to say that he didn't take a large chunk of gold out of the trust vault; with the exchange rate being over 20 000 shillings to the galleon, they certainly weren't going to ignore the trust.

They made a stop over at Madam Malkin's for his robes after visiting the bank and Nuri spent the better part of the visit arguing with the seamstress about the sleeves of his robes. After speaking with his aabbe Nuri accepted the fact that he would have to wear the dresses the wizards attempted to pass off as robes if he were to fit into a wizarding school. But that did not mean that he would allow his scars to be covered. They were a symbol of pride and status and he was not going to have them hidden. The assistant eventually capitulated, but only after Madam Malkin intervened.

Due to the early hour, Diagon Alley had been nearly empty for most of the morning. The few that had been about had been too busy keeping themselves from tripping over the cobblestones to pay attention to their odd group. But after their long stay in Madam Malkin's the people making their way through the streets were considerably more awake and certainly noticed their colorful and motley group. Or more specifically, they noticed the oddly scarred teenager that seemed rather out of place amongst them. One who's forehead was bared for all sundry.

"Do you see that..."

"...Scar, I'd swear it..."

"Harry Potter..."

The whispers followed them down the street. Nuri did his best to ignore the rabble while the guards became shifty, unnerved by the sheer amount of attention they were beginning to draw. Vance looked utterly unperturbed as she made her way through the rapidly forming crowd and flounced through the doorway of a dingy shop. Nuri looked up at the sign above the door.

_Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._

Nuri followed his aabbe into the shop and looked around with thinly veiled disgust. The shop was small, too small for all of their party to fit into and some of the guards had to wait outside. Vance sat herself down in the only spindly chair in the shop. The walls were covered with piles of small boxes and everything, from the floor to the boxes and the counter, was covered in a thin layer of dust. He heard a small movement and turned around to look at the thin doorway behind the counter. There stood a gangly looking man with wild hair and wide, silvery eyes.

"My, my, Mr. Potter," the man said with a soft voice, clasping his hands in front of him. "I was told you'd be stopping by today, although we did expect you years ago..."

"It is Mr. _Nasri_," Nuri responded curtly. "I have not been a Potter for many years."

The man stepped into the room, "Yes, yes, I heard. Unusual. Africa, correct? Beautiful place there. Traveled there many years ago to collect wood for wands... many interesting species there." The man, Ollivander, Nuri assumed, rambled on as he began pulling boxes out from their precarious placements in the various stacks surrounding the room. "Beautiful place. Nowhere quite like it, although parts of Tibet and Brazil come close... wand hand?"

"Excuse me?"

Ollivander tutted and shook his head, "Wand hand, child. Which one is your wand hand?"

Nuri looked at the man warily, "My right, I suppose."

With a nod Ollivander stepped forward abruptly while reaching into his pocket. Nuri swiftly stepped backwards and grabbed for the rifle on his back as the guards in the room quickly trained their guns on the odd looking man.

**"****Stop!"** Mujahid barked.

Ollivander froze, startled and confused by the sudden hostility. "Pardon? I am sorry, but I do not speak that language."

"You must excuse Mujahid," Idris interjected smoothly, signaling for the men to drop their guns. "Neither he nor the rest of the guards deal well with sudden movements that can be interpreted as threatening. Seeing as you unexpectedly stepped toward my son while reaching for an unknown item in your pocket, you were deemed a threat. May I ask just what you were pulling out?"

"What? Oh I am sorry. It is just my tape measure. Given the circumstances, I believe I can do without the measurements," Ollivander said hastily while removing the tape measure from his pocket and placing it on the counter. The guards jumped when the device gave a twitch but settled back down when it made no other movements.

Nuri watched as Ollivander carefully stepped towards the pile of boxes he had made earlier and began shuffling through them.

"Here now," the man said brightly. "Try this one. Holly and dragon's heartstring. Ten inches and a bit whippy." He handed it to Nuri who looked at him perplexedly. "Well go on then, give it a bit of a wave."

Nuri raised an eyebrow at the decidedly odd man but complied. No sooner had he given it a firm swish did one of the guards turn bright pink; skin, hair and all.

"Nope!" Ollivander exclaimed, carefully taking the wand from his hand. Nuri smirked; they had obviously disturbed this strange man. "Now how about this. Yew and unicorn hair. An unusual combination."

Nuri shrugged to himself and gave the rather swirly looking wand a wave. A sound like a gunshot went off that had all of the guards reaching for their weapons before they realized that there was no threat.

"Hmm, I think not. Here's another. Vinewood and phoenix feather. Ten inches and supple."

It went on this way with Nuri trying various wands to sometimes explosive effects for a good twenty minutes before Ollivander became thoughtful.

"I wonder. It would make some sense..." he muttered to himself as he dug around through another pile of boxes before coming up on a metal one with a lock. He tapped the lock three times with his wand before it came undone and he opened it, carefully pulling out a reddish wand. "Yes, here we go. Mahogany and phoenix feather. Twelve and a half inches. Unyielding."

As soon as Nuri took the wand from the wandmaker's bony hands he felt the scars covering his arm prickle before growing warm. He gave the wand a careful swish, a bit wary after so many explosions, and gave a small smile at the green and gold sparks that came out of the end.

"Ha!" Ollivander exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I should have expected it! Your father, James Potter I mean, also had a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable and excellent for transfiguration. Curious though..."

Idris raised an eyebrow at the wandmaker's tone. "Yes?"

"That wand, I made it rather recently. Six months ago, in fact. The phoenix that gave the feather for that wand gave me two others. One feather I put into a Holly wand that was stolen a bit more than a year ago by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Ollivander tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I don't believe he liked the idea that there was a wand out there that was a brother to his own, Yew and phoenix feather. Rigid and powerful for the darker side of magic, that one... Anyway, so I made another wand, secret, keeping it hidden so that it could not be stolen again. All the better I did since I expect that the Holly would not have worked out well for you. No, I doubt it would have worked for you."

"Brother? Wands can have brothers?" Nuri asked.

"Ah yes, brother. That is the term we wandmakers use for wands that share wood from the same tree or cores from the same animal. If the wands are forced against one another, it is almost like the wands recognise each other. They do not react in any predictable way. It is highly recommended to avoid dueling with brother wands. The results are, at best, unpredictable."

"Well," Nuri said, half to himself. "No using it against Voldemort then."

Ollivander nodded, rather birdlike, "Very good, very good. Now, that will be nine galleons for the wand."

Nuri nodded and pulled the required money out of his new money pouch, spelled to be bottomless, weightless and theft proof, something he was quite happy about.

When the group finally stepped out of Ollivander's and back to the alley they were met with a rather large crowd. It was obvious that the guards that had remained outside of the shop had attempted to keep control, but the wizards brushed them aside as if they weren't a threat. That alone would have had Nuri laughing if it weren't for the sheer number of people that he had to deal with.

"Harry Potter!"

"...autograph?"

"Marry me!"

People were shouting out and vying for his attention. Random people kept reaching forward trying to touch him, effectively surrounding him. He could hear his aabbe and Mujahid yelling at the crowd as the guards pointed their weapons at the people. But the idiots simply didn't react. Most people dismissed the guns, instead turning back to get Nuri's attention. The few wizards that did recognize the weapons began to panic, shouting and adding to the sheer noise and confusion. One woman in particular began screaming shrilly and tried to run away when he pulled his AR-15, but she was unable to get through the wall of people.

Nuri could see the guards getting tetchy and nervous. They had been specifically instructed to keep the violence to a minimum, only allowed to react if there was a threat like a Death Eater attack. They did not expect to be mobbed by a crowd of simple citizens.

Eventually one wizard gathered up enough courage to grab Nuri's clothing which was enough to set off one particularly nervous guard. A gunshot followed by a scream of pain echoed in the crowded street and the majority of the mob went quiet. Nuri turned to find the person that had been hurt and found a man on the ground, clutching at his shoulder.

The sight of blood leaking through the man's fingers was enough to incite the quiet group into mass panic as they all attempted to get away. Nuri sighed and knelt down, knocking the man's hand out of the way and putting pressure on the wound. He found himself wishing they had brought a Healer, but they certainly hadn't expected any issues. Nor did they want to risk one of their valuable Healers by taking them to an unfamiliar location.

A series of cracks sounded in the narrow street and Nuri looked up to see a group of wizards in red robes surrounding them; aurors, if Nuri remembered his lessons with Vance correctly. The guards shifted their guns to the newly arrived wizards who had their wands pointed at them in turn. One of the wizard's eyes went wide at the sight of the oddly dressed men with their guns.

"Shit! Don't shoot! No spells! Those are _guns_ you idiots, DO NOT ATTACK!"

It was obvious that the aurors ignored their compatriot as they continued to move into position around the Somalis.

Either the aurors were too incompetent or naïve to heed his warning, or they were simply too cocky to believe that they could be bested by a someone without a wand. Nuri expected it was a bit of all of the above and signaled for one of the guards to take his place holding the wounded man's shoulder. He shared a look with his aabbe to get his permission to handle the situation and nearly smiled when he was given a nod in return. He ignored the shouting going on around him as he wiped the blood off his hands and onto his shirt. The movement caught the eye of one of the aurors and he opened his mouth, his ire written all over his face before his eyes flickered to his forehead. He promptly choked and paled.

"H-H-Harry P-Potter!"

The shouting immediately stopped and all of the aurors turned towards him as one, their faces in various states of horror and awe.

"Mr. Potter!" One of the aurors closest to him exclaimed as she stepped forward to shake his hand. "The name's August Proudfoot. It's an honor to meet you!"

Nuri sneered at the outstretched hand. "Perhaps, Ms. Proudfoot, it would be more of an honor if your people were not pointing their wands at mine? I know I am new to this culture, but where I come from such hostile actions are considered rude. Now, we did not bring any of our Healers and seeing as this man obviously needs medical attention, perhaps it would behoove you to arrange it?"

As Proudfoot impersonated a fish Nuri turned to the auror that recognized the guns and seemed to be attempting to hide.

"Since you seem to have more brains than the rest of your companions, perhaps you can direct them to dispersing this rabid crowd. I would simply _hate_ it if something untoward were to happen again," he drawled.

The man's eyes strayed down to his gun and he nodded quickly before turning to the rest of the gaping aurors and snapping out orders.

Nuri smirked before feeling a hand land on his shoulder. He started but relaxed when he saw his aabbe.

_"__Well done. I think it would be prudent to rent a room at that... pub we started at and send Vance out with some of the others to get the rest of your supplies. Somehow I doubt these wizarding police officers will be all that effective at crowd control for any length of time,"_ Idris drawled, keeping an eye on the situation around them.

Nuri nodded and followed his aabbe away from the wand shop. As they walked he couldn't help but smile to himself as he watched the aurors scurry around him. These wizards were so easy.

* * *

**31 August 1996**

It wasn't rare for an Adept to attain mastery of his magics, but because of the lifestyle they had to lead it was certainly infrequent enough that there was quite a celebration for any Adept's second rite of passage. And since this was the day that the Warlord's heir was to receive his second set of scars, the entire compound had stopped what they were doing for the day to join the celebrations.

Nuri found himself in a similar position as he was seven years previously, straddling a bench and leaning against Ohin as the scar master cut into his left arm. If done on the hands or arms, the scars for the first rite of passage were done on the dominant arm, symbolizing basic control over their magic. In the event that an Adept gains mastery over their magics, they are scarred on their non-dominant hand or arm, symbolizing strength even at their weakest.

While the training was certainly not as intensive as it was before his first rite of passage, the magical lessons he had over the previous seven years had been difficult, particularly since they had to be relatively infrequent due to his other obligations. The concept of control had been honed in a whole new way through some of those exercises and Nuri had to learn to wield his magics to the fullest of their abilities. It required imagination, power, control and sheer will to shape magics in the way of a master and he was quite proud to have achieved it.

He relished every slice of the little oval tool, each cut a reminder of everything he worked so hard to achieve. He had practiced hard, both with Ohin in his lessons and by himself at night. He pushed particularly hard in the last three months since the wizards visited and was now reaping his rewards.

He felt the scar master wipe down the last of her cuts with her bloodied cloth and Ohin moved to take her place to pat in the ashes. He looked down at the design Ohin had chosen, similar to the one he had received when he was 9 only instead of beginning at his elbow, this one began at his wrist. The flames wrapped his arm from wrist to shoulder indicating his mastery.

As Ohin wiped the excess ash of his arm a cheer went up around the courtyard they were in. Nuri kept his face neutral, but smiled inwardly when he saw his aabbe clap from his seat at the edge of the courtyard. He nodded to the Warlord and turned back to Ohin at the sound of his voice, feeling a bit from the blood loss.

_"__I am very proud of you, Nuri. You have accomplished a lot in the last eight years and I am going to miss our lessons,"_ Ohin said, smiling.

Nuri nodded to the Elder as he pulled his plain black shirt back on. _"It has been a pleasure, Ohin,"_ he said simply. He would miss learning new things from the knowledgeable man, but he certainly wouldn't miss the restrictions he had placed on him in order to receive the instruction.

_"__Now, make sure to keep up your exercises at Hogwarts, especially the mind arts since some of their Adepts seem to be apt at mind reading. And don't underestimate their magics. They are very different from ours and while they seem to rely on the sticks, their magic is much more refined and, in some ways, more versatile than ours,"_ Ohin added sternly.

_"__Yes, Elder. I will do my best,"_ Nuri responded with a short nod.

Ohin smiled warmly, the lines of his face wrinkling deeply. _"I believe you will, child. Make sure you come back to us now. Don't forget that you are first and foremost, an Adept, not a wizard no matter what they may try and tell you. And don't forget to write. I am proud to have taught you, child. Now go! Enjoy your party!"_

Nuri gave a slight smile and another nod before turning to greet his aabbe who was waiting patiently behind him.

"Congratulations, son," Idris said. His voice would have sounded cold to an outsider, but Nuri could see the gleam in his eye.

"Thank you, father. Will you be joining the celebrations this time?" Nuri asked. He knew his aabbe had been busy lately. Despite the UN and US pulling out out Somalia, the civil war didn't disappear completely.

"Sadly not. There has been much to do since Aidid's death at the beginning of the month. I fear I have a bit more to get through so that we can spend some time together before you leave," Idris said flatly. "Please join me after your celebrations. I have a few things I wish to discuss with you."

Nuri bowed. "I shall, father." He watched his aabbe disappear into the manor before turning back to the Adepts waiting to speak to him.

* * *

The celebrations had lasted until late in the evening and Nuri was eager to go to bed seeing as he had an early Portkey to catch the next morning, not to mention the body's reaction to extreme pain and blood loss. As far as his body was concerned, it was well beyond the time for rest. All the same, he still had to meet with his aabbe before he could sleep. So it was with a slight reluctance that he knocked on the door to his aabbe's study.

_"__Enter,"_ the voice of the Warlord drifted through the door.

Nuri opened the door and nodded respectfully to his aabbe before taking the seat in front of his desk. He sat patiently while his aabbe simply looked at him before speaking.

_"__Tomorrow you will be going to Hogwarts,"_ Idris said simply. _"It will be the first time you will be away from home for any appreciable amount of time."_

Dipping his head in recognition Nuri nodded. He had left for short excursions before, mainly around Africa where the culture was very similar, but never for so long and certainly not to a Western country.

_"__You will be expected to comport yourself as is appropriate for your station. They may see you as Harry Potter and will likely attempt to influence you into being such, but do not forget who you are: a Somali and a Warlord's heir."_

Idris' voice was stern and in it Nuri could hear the hint of worry there. Their way of life was tough, there was no doubt about that, and the luxuries and peace the Western world could provide were often too tempting. But Nuri wasn't made for peace and he certainly wasn't going to abandon the man who had taken him from his abusive relatives, the relatives the _British_ had placed him with. No, Nuri had no interest in the British; his only interest rested in what he could take from them.

_"__I will remember, Father. I will not disappoint you,"_ Nuri said, letting a bit of his resolve leak into his voice.

The Warlord gave one of his rare smiles. _"I don't expect you will. From what I understand, the children at Hogwarts come from both factions in their war. You need to keep your eyes open for them. The sleeping arrangements there might mean that you'll be sleeping in the same dormitory as children on both sides and if you're not careful that can leave you vulnerable. Remember that any of those children could be the enemy."_

Nuri nodded and inwardly snorted, _"Dumbledore seems to think that the children are harmless."_

_"__Rather naïve, but it isn't our job to inform him otherwise,"_ Idris waved his hand dismissively._ "As for Dumbledore, he's likely to try to interfere once things get started and he can't be trusted, but remember to keep to the contract. It is a blood contract so he can't do anything about it as long as you keep to the terms. I expect to hear from you every couple of days with those two-way journals Ohin found in Diagon Alley. I imagine he wants you to write to him as well?"_ At Nuri's nod he continued, _"Good. Remember that your primary mission is your training, not this little conflict. Do not let their squabbles interfere with your training, both magical and physical. Mujahid will be with you so I expect you to keep up on your physical training."_

At the thought of Mujahid, Nuri couldn't help but smirk. The man had not been happy about the fact that he was going to Scotland, but he certainly hadn't shown that to the Warlord. The only reason Nuri noticed was because the man had been particularly vicious in the recent training sessions, specifically starting after he was debriefed on his mission.

_"__And do not allow for any insult,"_ the Warlord said bluntly. _"These, __**wizards**__ don't understand our way of life and will look down on you and try to change your mind. While it is not your job to educate them, ignorance is not an excuse for disrespect."_

Nuri's smirk turned into a full blown smile. Oh he was definitely going to have fun with this.

* * *

**Ma-awis:** Colorful traditional Somali wraparound cotton skirts.

**Firestar:** 9 mm semi-automatic pistols manufactured by the Spanish company Star Bonifacio Echeverria SA. These pistols were announced early in 1990s and are sold worldwide for civilian market.

**A/N:** The average exchange rate in August 1996 was 4061.76 Somali shillings to one British pound according to oanda(dot)com. I'm going with JKR's 2001 quote in which the approximate value of a Wizarding galleon is "about five pounds". So, simple math indicates that one Wizarding galleon was worth 20,308.80 Somali shillings. Just as a point of interest, this month (August 2009) the exchange rate would be approximately 12,308.85 shillings to the galleon.

I have my reasons for why Dumbledore behaved the way he did last chapter. It wasn't a matter of him being overpowered as much as completely surprised, out of his depth and, as my husband put it, "diplomatically over a barrel". Nuri, however, was not and was thusly far more in control of the situation, particularly since no wand magic was involved.


	22. What does the AK stand for?

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU eventual slash HPDM **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton, not worried about how expensive my car repairs are going to be.

**A/N:** Thanks to litlittledragon for pointing out a continuity error.

_"Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**1 September 1996**

It had been a fairly quiet morning thus far, something Nuri was thankful for while he sat with Mujahid in their cabin on Hogwarts Express, watching the countryside fly by. He and his aabbe had an enjoyable early breakfast and Nuri had tried to avoid thinking that it would be several months until he saw his beloved aabbe again. Despite all of the reasons in favor of him going to Scotland, he wasn't happy about the fact that he would be away from Somalia for more than a week or two for the first time in over a decade. After a stoic goodbye, Nuri and Mujahid had taken the horrible Portkey to the station just early enough to make sure they had a cabin to themselves.

Nuri had already changed into his school robes in order to better blend in, but the two of them still stood out. Perhaps it was the robes he ordered Madam Malkin to alter so that they were sleeveless and shorter, only down to his knees instead of the floor, along with the warming spells to compensate for the lack of fabric. They looked quite different from the floor length robes the other students wore, but he refused to hide his scars and would not wear clothing that would excessively interfere with his movement. He was there to fight and he would be damned before he fell on his face in the middle of combat due to the muumuus the wizards traditionally wore.

With Mujahid the problem was even worse. He eschewed the traditional clothing entirely, opting instead to wear his combat attire. The burn scars on his arm and neck were startling amongst a population quick with their glamor charms.

Particularly confusing to the wizards (and alarming to the Muggleborns) were the semiautomatic guns slung across Mujahid's back and the plethora of ammunition stored on his body. What they did not see, however, were the knives hidden under both Somalis' clothes, the pistol strapped to Nuri's ankle just under his pants and Samir draped around Nuri's neck, mostly hidden by his collar.

Despite their odd appearance, or likely because of it, the two males were able to obtain a compartment without hassle and without anyone connecting the strange boy with the recently resurfaced Harry Potter. Because Ms. Vance had been kind enough to demonstrate shrinking charms to Nuri, they didn't have any luggage to fuss with either, a boon given the sheer number of munitions Mujahid took with him.

Nuri was brought out of his musings by the door to the compartment opening. Seeing some teenaged boys and a girl in the doorway he held a hand out to Mujahid to lower his gun despite the fact that the students seemed utterly unperturbed by the weapon.

Nuri ran his eyes over the group, dismissing all but two of them as non-threats. The two large boys in the back didn't look capable of independent thought, much less providing any sort of challenge. While muscle mass itself could be a problem, it required direction when packaged in such dimwitted bodies, so Nuri decided to watch whoever was directing these students.

The pug-faced girl was far too twiggy and, by the way she held herself, had no experience in combat. She leaned forward far too much, possibly due to the breasts that were likely spell-enhanced given that the rest of her body didn't seem likely to produce such overwhelming cleavage. The black boy had an amused look on his face and held himself in a way that spoke of more time spent in the bedroom than battle.

The last two, however, bore watching. The weedy-looking boy, who seemed to separate himself a bit from the group, appeared to have some training, but most of it seemed to have amounted to overconfidence instead of experience. The rather pointed blond boy in the front, however... he held himself easily, almost lazily, similar to the way people did when they had been drilled from a young age. But there was no overconfidence. This was someone who had a lot of training, but from a person who regularly beat him down.

They were all dressed in full student muumuus with green and silver patches on the breast. Slytherin, if Nuri remembered correctly. The group looked at both Somalis individually, obviously dismissing Mujahid before focusing on Nuri. Apparently none of them had training in non-magical risk assessment.

"I heard there was a new student in here," the blond began without preamble, looking at Nuri expectantly. The boy's accent was pronounced, the overly round vowels and slight drawl marking him as a member of the aristocracy. The attitude certainly confirmed that appraisal, although it confused Nuri a bit given his earlier appraisal.

Blinking once and reassessing the blond before leaning back, Nuri crossed his legs lazily and raised an eyebrow at the boy. He certainly wasn't going to acknowledge the play for power the aristocratic brat was so clumsily attempting.

Several moments passed in silence with the blond getting noticeably agitated before giving in. Nuri added impetuous to his assessment.

"Well?" the boy sneered and became even more angry when a smirk touched Nuri's lips.

A giggle drew the boys' attention away from their glares and over to the pug-faced girl. "Who else would it be, Draco? I doubt it's that dirty old Muggle," she jeered, gesturing toward Mujahid.

The atmosphere immediately darkened as Nuri leaned forward in his seat. He glanced at the blond when he fidgeted, feeling the shift. The scraggy boy seemed to puff up in response while the rest did not seem to notice. Nuri flicked his eyes back to the obnoxious girl before responding.

"Excuse me?" he said quietly.

Oblivious, the girl flipped her hair at him. "You know, Muggle. Magic-less... utterly dreadful." Her eyes narrowed at him. "You don't even know what a Muggle is, do you? I bet you're just a dirty Mudblood! Should've expected it, hanging around this trash," she sneered, dismissively flicking her hand at Mujahid.

Nuri stood up smoothly, taking a large step towards her and barely aborting a move that would have sent her crashing out of the cabin. The two hulking masses that had previously been occupied starting out the door and window were suddenly behind the girl, having noticed the threatening movement, while the girl herself had hastily stepped back and into them, trapped.

Refraining from taking another step forward and possibly taking off her head with it, Nuri sneered, "And you are a white dog. I would _suggest_ you leave."

Obviously a little shaken but feeling more secure between the two mini-hulks the girl huffed and flicked her hair again before turning to the blond. "Hardly worth it, let's go Draco," she said before flouncing out of the cabin, the other students following.

The blond, Draco, turned and gave Nuri a considering look before he followed the rest of the group out, closing the door quietly.

Once he heard the quiet _snick_ of the door he sat back down across from Mujahid who looked at him blankly.

**"****Well, that look like it went well,"** the elder man said lazily.

Nuri shrugged and turned to look out the window, passing the rest of the train ride in blessed silence.

* * *

Unsure of where to go after stepping out of the carriages, Nuri stopped in front of the yokes to pet the skeletal horses that had drawn them there. He ignored the strange looks from the students, some seeming to label him as crazy while others had curiosity in their gazes, and simply waited while Mujahid stood guard.

When they had first disembarked from the train, there had been several tense moments of confusion when Mujahid refused to get any closer to 'those godawful ruins'. It had taken some reasoning followed by a few flat out orders before he would get into one of the carriages. Luckily, whatever enchantment had been on him broke once they passed the gates. Nuri wondered why Dumbledore or Vance had not warned him about that and put it as another black mark towards the old man. After a good ten minutes of waiting with the horses a much older woman came out.

"There you are!" the woman exclaimed. Her hair was pulled back tightly under her pointed hat, giving her a very strict look. Even if the number of wrinkles and grey hairs didn't give away her age, the old-fashioned clothing would have. "My name is Professor McGonagall. Come with me." She turned around sharply and headed back into the castle without waiting to see if they would follow her.

They walked away from where Nuri had assumed they were heading, given the amount of noise emanating from the doors opposite the entrance, and headed down an empty hallway lined with portraits. Glancing at the walls as they walked, Nuri could see the inhabitants of the paintings pointing at him and whispering to each other and made a mental note to avoid whatever paintings he could.

"You know," Professor McGonagall began, breaking the silence unexpectedly. "I taught your parents when they came through these halls. Lily and James," there was a slight smile in her voice as she slowed down to reminisce. "They were quite the troublemakers... well, James was anyway. And smart, so smart." She turned to glance at him with a slight smile on her lips, "You look a bit like them, you know. Well, they were both much taller and paler than you, but your face and hair are just like your father's, and you have Lily's eyes–"

"Ma'am," Nuri said shortly, cutting the woman off. "As nice as your nostalgia might be for you, Lily and James Potter gave birth to me, they did not raise me. My father is in Somalia and, sadly, looks nothing like me. I would appreciate it if you kept your memories to yourself because they are not wanted."

The Professor stopped in momentary shock before puffing up, seeming at a loss for words.

Nuri stopped several steps later and turned back. "Are we continuing or is our destination here?" he asked sarcastically.

Professor McGonagall shook her head hard enough to jar a few tightly coiffed hairs, making her look a bit manic before she continued walking while muttering to herself. Nuri followed a few steps behind her, keeping pace with Mujahid who was watching the paintings suspiciously.

**"****What did you say to her that put her so on edge?" **the elder man asked without taking his eyes off of the canvases.

Nuri shook his head dismissively. **"Nothing important." **He looked at McGonagall thoughtfully when the smooth cadence of Arabic seemed to agitate her even more.

They kept pace in silence until the Professor opened a door that lead to a small, plain room filled with miniature witches and wizards, pointed hats and all. Professor McGonagall huffed through a door on the other side of the small room and they stayed behind the group, listening to their inane chattering about the sorting and what it might entail. First years, Nuri supposed, remembering Vance's lecture on the structure of Hogwarts.

Several long minutes were spent listening to the first years before McGonagall came back to usher them into a much larger room filled with all the other students. Nuri couldn't help but be impressed at the piece of magic that was the ceiling of the dining hall, but did not let it otherwise distract him from the room of unknowns.

Mujahid unobtrusively took a position next to the door they came in with his assault rifle in his hands, staying as best he could to the shadows. Despite his unusual looks, he went unnoticed in the excitement of a new year and sorting, something that amused Nuri. These children were _much_ different from those from his home.

McGonagall stepped up next to a tiny stool with an old, weathered hat and waited with her hands primly crossed in front of her. Nuri waited for either her or the teachers to say something, what he didn't expect was for the _hat_ to rip open at the brim and burst into song.

In a rather short and pointed song the hat sang, sang!, about house unity and an upcoming war. Nuri tuned the impromptu musical out, considering whether or not the Builders would be capable of making such an object. He hadn't considered enchanting objects before; it simply hadn't been a priority when they were more worried about making things to survive. It had possibilities though, particularly since their magical community was more settled and less worried about whether or not they would have food next season.

Nuri was so deep in thought he didn't notice when the hat finished its song. He did notice, however, when the hall burst out in applause, startling Mujahid who had been staring at the singing hat queerly. Whether or not he could understand what it was saying, it was a strange sight.

He lost himself back into thought about what objects they could use their magics on for what purposes while Professor McGonagall began calling up all the first years to be sorted. He kept half an ear out, particularly when both the Ns and the Ps had been passed through without him being called. He had a feeling that Dumbledore wanted to wait for last to sort him. He seemed the dramatic type.

Finally the final first year was sorted and McGonagall turned to him.

"Potter, Harry."

The noise level abruptly increased throughout the hall as students began whispering, both quietly and decidedly not, to one another. Nuri refrained from rolling his eyes, barely, and turned away from the Professor to look about the hall once more, causing the whispers to increase in volume.

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall said, much more crisply.

Again Nuri ignored her, instead staring at the magicked ceiling. It really was quite a piece of magic.

"Harry Potter! Do not ignore me!" Professor McGonagall nearly shouted, losing a couple more hairs out of her strict bun.

Nuri looked down from the ceiling and raised an eyebrow at her before responding. "My name, _Professor_, is Nuri Nasri. You will address me as such or not at all." A couple of the students near him inched away at the coldness in his voice.

The Professor began turning an alarming shade of pink and opened her mouth to respond before a noise from the table up on the dais caught her attention. She turned to the elderly man, Dumbledore, Nuri remembered, and began to open her mouth to say something again while gesturing at Nuri before Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet her and simply nodded. The wrinkles in her face turned white as the rest of her face reddened even further and she turned back to him, glaring as she bit out, "Nasri, Nuri."

Smiling benignly, in the way he knew never failed to anger Mujahid, Nuri nodded and approached the stool, sitting down carefully before the hat was shoved down on his head by the irate teacher.

'Well well, what do we have here,' a voice echoed in Nuri's mind. He kept himself from jumping, barely. They should know better than to startle someone from a war torn country... the voice in his head chuckled and Nuri threw himself into his redwood forest only to see the hat that had sung earlier caught on a branch.

"I should have figured it was you, seeing as you were singing earlier. But what sort of hat sings? Or even speaks for that matter?" Nuri asked curiously, the earlier alarm at an unknown being in his head gone.

The hat's wrinkles creased further as it huffed. "I can see that you weren't listening at all to my song, now were you... I am a sorting hat and it's my job to sort you! Now let me go so I can do my job!" it shouted, wriggling about on the branch it was stuck on as it expanded and contracted its creases.

"Well that was not very nice," Nuri said simply while tapping his lip. "You need in my head to sort me, is that it?"

The hat grumbled something about impertinent children before relaxing its folds. "Well, I seriously doubt I will be putting you into Hufflepuff, but to determine anything else besides that, yes, I need to see in your head to sort you!"

Nuri's eyes narrowed at the suspiciously compliant garment. "And what you see in our heads, are you in the habit of sharing information?"

"And now you sound like a Slytherin. For your information, Salazar Slytherin himself wove a geas into my enchantments to prevent me sharing anything I learn from a student's mind with anyone, not that people don't try..." the hat muttered the last to itself.

After a nearly silent sigh Nuri nodded. "Very well, Old Hat." He gestured vaguely and the forest was gone, replaced again by the sight of the dining hall.

The voice echoed again in his head, 'well now that you have so _magnanimously_ allowed for your sorting, let's get this over with. Mmm... interesting. Loyalty, I didn't expect that. Fierce loyalty, but only to your family. Maybe Hufflepuff was better for you than I would have thought. Courage, but not blind bravery and you'll gladly retreat when necessary, whether or not someone is in danger. You seem to see death as an inevitability, and often a necessity. Gryffindor is definitely not for you, although you could likely teach them a thing or two about real battles...

"Both cunning and studious, although most of your studies seem to be in an effort to impress or improve for your father, so no Ravenclaw for you. Deadly cunning balanced rather precariously by your loyalty, in fact driven by it in some ways. I would say Hufflepuff or Slytherin, but given that you would probably slaughter the Hufflepuffs in their beds... it'd better be **SLYTHERIN!**" The last word echoed both in his head and through his ears as the hat announced it to the rest of the room.

Nuri nodded and stood, taking the hat off before it could be ripped off only to realize that McGonagall seemed to be too stunned to receive it. In fact, the entire hall was silent with faces ranging from outraged, to heartbroken and simply bewildered. Nuri turned to place the hat on the stool which seemed to break the students out of their silence and mutters and whispers swept across the hall. When he straightened back up, Nuri decided to head in the direction of the halfhearted applause and sat down near the first years, far away from the students that had bothered him on the train. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Mujahid repositioned himself with his back against the wall closest to him.

A movement from the dais brought Nuri's attention back to the head of the room and to where Dumbledore stood. After a few inane words, a feast of foods unfamiliar to Nuri appeared on the table. Unsure of what everything was and unwilling to ask any of the students around him, Nuri picked the few things he recognized from his youth as well as some plain meat and vegetables. Finding it palatable, albeit strange, he dug in and ignored the chattering all around him and the odd, and occasionally murderous, looks from around the room.

Dinner passed by quickly and Nuri opted to skip the desserts entirely, given that he was unused to and unfamiliar with them. He sat patiently, ignoring the first years that seemed unsure whether or not to talk to him. Soon enough the food cleared and Dumbledore stood and stepped in front of the teachers' table.

"The very best of evenings to you!" Dumbledore smiled widely, opening his arms wide to encompass the entire hall. "Welcome back, welcome back students old... and new," he said tipping his head in Nuri's direction who glared in response. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. First are the few start-of-term notices. First years, as well as a few older years that need reminding, the forests on the ground are forbidden to all students, although I suspect we should have fewer problems this year," he said as his eyes twinkled. "Mr. Filch, our groundskeeper, has asked me to remind you all that no magic is to be used in the corridors between classes and that the entirety of the Weasleys' new owl-order business, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, has now been added to the list of banned items, which can be found in its entirety outside of Mr. Filch's office.

"Also, we are pleased to announce a new staff member this year, Sirius Black, who will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He is eminently qualified and I am sure you will all learn a lot from him in _practical_ lessons," Dumbledore announced, his voice sounding almost like a proud father.

A man towards the end of the table stood, bowing jovially and giving off an air of frivolity. But his eyes were dark, his long hair casting a shadow over them and the circles etched deeply underneath. The students seemed unsure whether or not to clap, resulting in a random spattering of noise across the room that darkened the shadows under the new Professor's eyes.

"And finally," Dumbledore's voice echoed out after Professor Black had taken a seat, "as you can see one of ours that went missing many years ago has finally returned to us," Dumbledore said, smiling widely and gesturing towards Nuri while he seethed, a sneer beginning to form on his face, but the old man continued before he could interrupt. "As per a request, he has a guard with him. Do not incite the guard. Despite being a Muggle, he is far more dangerous than he looks," Dumbledore said solemnly.

Nuri, as well as many Muggleborns, bristled at the Headmaster's wording. It seemed to Nuri that the wizards seemed to have a fixation on their magics as the end all when he had always been taught that it was nothing more or less than a tool. And the opinion seemed to be pervasive throughout the community, from Diagon Alley where the mob dismissed the guards to the train where the students were openly condescending. That kind of ignorance could get a person killed, something Nuri was counting on in the upcoming battles.

"But now, your beds eagerly await you and I do not wish to keep you from your needed sleep. Therefore, good night, good night!" Dumbledore exclaimed, smiling widely.

Nuri gave the old man glare and turned, following the prefects out of the hall and into the bowels of the school.

The subsequent trip down to the dormitory was long and winding, leading the students deeper into the castle. Nuri scowled at the dampness of the stone walls, a far cry from the arid climate of his home. It didn't take long for a chill to set in and he decided that he would have to find the spells the seamstress used on his robes as soon as he could. He might have been able to figure out how to create and manipulate fire for warmth, but it was hardly necessary where he came from and would draw undue attention to what he had realized were unusual magics to the British wizards after spending the summer with Vance.

Just as Nuri began to lose his way, the group came to a sudden stop in the middle of a nondescript hallway. The further down they had gone, the fewer portraits and wall hangings there were. The tapestries had stopped many hallways prior, likely rotted away from mildew, and there were only three paintings along this particular hall, two of which had no occupants and a third with a rather stoic looking dark man. Upon seeing the students the man huffed and stepped out of his painting.

One of the older students with a badge pinned to the front of his robes stepped forward and, in a rather bored voice, intoned "_Cruor fidelitas_." The wall just to the side of the formerly occupied portrait began to shift to the side, a bit like the sliding doors Nuri had previously seen in Muggle London, until a portal was opened in the wall.

The oldest students entered first with the new students trailing behind them uncertainly until they all had piled into the main room. The door led into a large dark green room with a rather low ceiling. The only light came from a few wall sconces and table lights as well as the two roaring fires on opposite sides of the room. Random tables, sofas and chairs were scattered about, but too few and far apart to make the room seem cluttered. Tapestries did cover the walls, something Nuri was rather grateful for given that it would likely get really cold down there for him otherwise.

Several of the first years startled when a door Nuri hadn't previously seen banged open to admit a very tall, thin man that Nuri recognized from the envoy the Brits had sent to Somalia.

"Despite what many of you may have heard," he began abruptly, "Slytherin is a respectable house and I expect all of you to behave accordingly, a reminder that I should not have to extend to the older years." The man's dark eyes swept over the room, alighting on Nuri briefly before his scowl deepened and he continued speaking. "My name is Professor Snape and I am your Potions Professor as well as your Head of House. You will treat all Professors here with the respect accorded to them. If I hear of any rule breaking, much less from the other Professors, the consequences will be dire. Am I understood?"

The man waited for the various voices of 'Yes, sir' to float around the room before he his eyes came to rest on Mujahid.

"I would also suggest that you steer clear from the Muggle and take care to avoid inciting either him or his... _charge_," he jeered before spinning around and exiting just as dramatically as he entered.

Nuri took a few minutes to stand and watch the other students as they postured and greeted one another, shoving the first years out of the way as they moved about. It seemed to him that the house was a lot of pride and not much else. Perhaps in these children there were the foundations to turn into dangerous individuals, but their parents had had raised them soft during the 'peace times' and it seemed that a lot of them were rather spoilt. They certainly posed no danger to him.

Before long Nuri was ensconced in a chair near the fire with a book on Runes, having already made sure all of his stuff had arrived safely and Samir was properly situated. Mujahid had propped himself up in a corner, close enough to the fire to keep warm but looking thoroughly bored, something that amused Nuri. The man had been in constant motion in Somalia, hating to be lazy, and here he could do nothing but guard a single person in an environment in which he couldn't speak the language. Not to mention he simply was not built for this kind of weather. Nuri found it greatly amusing.

While the Slytherin dungeons could not have been considered loud, the sudden drop in noise caught Nuri's attention. Looking up from his book he saw a group of older students, likely sixth and seventh years by their size, approaching him. He couldn't help but smirk; despite how tough they tried to look, they were only so brave due to mob mentality. He had seen it over and over in Mogadishu; crowds that would riot, but only in the presence of others. People tended to lose all sense in large groups.

"Well well, if it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived."

Some of the students' eyes flicked over to look at Mujahid who had stepped up behind Nuri, but quickly dismissed him, causing Nuri's smirk to broaden which in turn seemed to anger them more. Taking quick stock of the group, he noticed that none of the students he had encountered earlier were taking part. In fact, most of them were sitting in front of the other fireplace, watching the confrontation with curious and calculating eyes.

Nuri sat up and closed his book, shifting it off of his lap and onto the chair. He tilted his head slightly to see Mujahid out of the corner of his eye without having to take his focus off of the group.

**"****Don't interfere, I want to see what they're willing to do."**

Mujahid nodded and shifted into a less aggressive stance.

A large, rather sloth-like boy stepped forward. "What the hell was that? Some sort of Muggle language?" he taunted.

Nuri gave the boy a blank stare, adding stupid to the boy's description. He could also see some of the other students in the room roll their eyes or shake their heads. At least it didn't seem to be a general belief.

"Muggle language? Are you serious?" he asked, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees, his hands angled to easily access the gun and knives he had stored about his person. "You do realize that English was created and is spoken by Muggles, right? Meaning you all," he gestured vaguely around the room, "speak a 'Muggle' language. As were French and Bulgarian, the languages I believe spoken at the two other European Wizarding schools."

The bulky boy blinked at him, seeming unsure of how to respond to Nuri. He paused before appearinng to make up his mind and pulled a nasty face. "I don't have to listen to you. You're just a dirty Mudblood."

Nuri suspected that the word was supposed to mean something, if the way the others in the group seemed to puff up and glare at him more when the boy uttered it. In response he simply tilted his head and asked, "And what is a Mudblood?"

"It means, _Potter_," the pug-faced girl from earlier jeered as she stepped up to the group, "that you have filthy Muggle blood in you, from your dirty mother. Salazar knows the Potters were Pureblooded before that blood-traitor decided to breed with that bitch."

Something about what the girl said echoed in his head and he had a memory flash by of a heavy woman and her dogs. He shook the thought out of his head before narrowing his eyes on the girl. "I hope the irony of you calling another woman a canine is not lost on you, dog-face." He ignored the girl's screech and turned to the rest of the group. "You base your prejudices on _blood_ here?" he asked incredulously, wondering why Vance had not mentioned it. "What an inane concept. Well, I know nothing of my birth parents' blood, but my father is what you call a Muggle, so do not speak so rudely in my presence."

Another boy stepped forward menacingly, "Or you'll what, Potter?"

Nuri closed his eyes briefly before standing up slowly. "My name is not Potter, it is Nasri. Do not forget that or I am sure you will quickly find out 'what'."

The sloth sneered and took another step forward, "Shut yer mouth, Potter–"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by his scream when Nuri grabbed his arm and promptly broke his elbow with a vicious twist. There was a short pause of shock before the rest of the group either charged or drew their wands. Nuri dodged the light flashing from the wands the best he could, using the the boy and girl that had decided to physically attack him as shields, ducking down behind them as he pulled the gun from his ankle strap. Standing back up and using his momentum, he hit the pug-faced girl hard in the back of the head with the butt of the gun before spinning around to hit the boy in the temple. While unlikely to knock either person out, it certainly would put them out of a fight unless they had been trained to deal with such a blow.

Continuously moving to avoid being hit by spells, Nuri quickly threw out two fireballs to ignite the students' clothing. Quick and dirty, but his normal tactics would likely decimate part of the room and really Nuri didn't want to deal with the fall out from that. Quickly grabbing the last student, Nuri positioned himself behind the slightly taller boy for cover and cocked the gun next to his temple. While obviously unfamiliar with the weapon, the student seemed to have some idea of the danger he was in. While he kept squirming to get out of Nuri's grasp, he didn't make any move to threaten him.

Nuri's eyes scanned the room, deadly silent except for the what appeared to be water spells that a couple students seemed to be frantically casting at their smoldering classmates. Leaning forward, he grazed his lips against the boy's ear as he kept his eyes on the other students, pitching his voice so it would carry despite being low.

"I suspect that you are not too familiar with Muggle firearms, are you?" The boy shivered and shook his head before Nuri continued, setting his mouth closely enough to occasionally brush his ear as he spoke. "Well then I will have the pleasure of informing you. This is what we call a gun, a Firestar actually, but that does not really matter. There are various types and sizes, including the AK-47 that Mujahid over there is wielding," he said lowly, nodding over towards the dark man who was standing threateningly next to the fireplace, slightly behind a chair and lazily aiming his gun at random students. "AK-47, it is a rather apt name, I have learned. It is rather similar to your spell, the Avada Kedavra, but is much more painful and can take much longer. Well, usually. If I pulled this trigger right now it would be over very quickly for you, in a mess of blood and brains all over these nice pretty tapestries. Now that would be a shame, would it not?"

The boy started shaking and nodded vigorously, but carefully, trying to avoid the object he had previously considered harmless.

A bang from the opposite side of the room caused not a few students to jump and a couple of the younger years to let out short screams.

"What is going on?" Professor Snape snapped loudly, throwing the door open before stopping short at the sight.

Nuri promptly let the student go and re-holstered his Firestar, raising his hands slightly to show that he carried no weapon.

Snape appeared to quickly assess the situation before barking out orders at the older students that were unharmed. "Greengrass, Zabini, Bulstrode and Harper take these four up to Madame Pomfrey immediately. Warrington, is it just your arm injured? Then you can walk yourself to the hospital wing with the others. Go, I will follow shortly." He rounded on Nuri and the boy he had been holding. "And why are five of my students on the way to the hospital wing?" he asked dangerously.

"Just a misunderstanding, Professor Snape," Nuri said simply, with his hands folded in front of him and in view.

"A misunderstanding," he drawled warningly. "Misunderstandings do not lead to hospitalizations Try again."

Nuri inclined his head politely. "Perhaps not here, but it was simply a misunderstanding."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "You are no longer in Africa, _Mr. Nasri_. The rules and laws are different here. The students and their parents will not put up with this sort of behavior, and neither will I. I will be speaking to Headmaster Dumbledore about this."

Tilting his head to the side Nuri smirked. "I will do what is necessary for my safety, _sir_, as I am permitted by my contract," he said lowly, for only the Professor's ears.

At this statement the sallow man sneered and spun on his heel, heading out the main door and likely to the aforementioned hospital wing.

Nuri turned to look at the rest of the room, ringed with silent Slytherins who obviously wanted to see the confrontation with Snape but otherwise stay out of the line of fire.

"I would advise you all to leave me alone. I am here simply to train and learn. I will have no issue with killing you if you get in my way," he announced simply before turning back to the chair. He leafed through his book to find the page he was on before settling back into his seat facing the fire.

Mujahid took a step forward, causing half of the room to freeze, and approached Nuri.

**"****You seem to have been hit, little Master,"** he said blithely, gesturing to a tear in Nuri's clothing that was rapidly turning red at his side.

Nuri looked down and poked at the hole, hissing when he prodded the shallow, bleeding wound. **"So I was,"** he said simply, conjuring up a bit of fire at the tip of his finger and biting his tongue as he cauterized the wound. He had never been good at Healing, but his Destroyer magics worked for bleeding wounds in a pinch. He couldn't do anything for the robes though. He shrugged lightly to himself and went back to his reading, ignoring the numerous eyes fixed on him.

* * *

'Perhaps I was expecting too much when I had hoped for a quiet year,' Draco Malfoy thought to himself when he had finally closed and warded the curtains on his bed.

After a stressful OWL year and a summer at his father's beck-and-call, he could admit that he really needed a quiet year before returning to Malfoy Manor for another summer of Death Eaters followed by his NEWT year and inevitable initiation into the Dark Lord's circle. But as soon as Nott opened that compartment door on the Hogwarts Express earlier that day, he realized that any hope of a quiet year had likely been smashed to pieces.

Transfer students were extremely rare of at Hogwarts. Wizards as a whole were set in their ways. When they chose a particular school or the rare option of homeschooling, they were almost never dissuaded. So when Draco had heard of a new student who was _not_ a firstie, he had to go see the boy for himself. The two people he met in the compartment were certainly not what he expected. First off, it was rare for an adult to travel on the train, and when they did it was limited to the infrequent teacher. It was absolutely unheard of for a _Muggle_ to be on the train.

All Pureblooded children were taught the feel of magic from a young age. What little research trickled out from the Unspeakables suggested that only young children _could_ learn it, something about the sensitivity of magic channels at particular ages and general learning plasticity allowing for the ability. Since it was impossible to learn for Hogwarts aged children, it became a coveted ability for Purebloods, one that Blood-traitors were quick to denounce since it was also fodder for discrimination. The result of the argument was that magic-sensitivity was an ability strictly taught to Pureblooded children from dark families.

So when Draco had stepped into the train compartment, he had been startled by the total absence of magic from one occupant and the rather wild magic from the other. The obvious assessment and dismissal from both occupants had brought him out of his momentary shock and he reflexively responded with his usual defensive drawl. Without realizing it, he had automatically slipped into the power plays that were second nature for Slytherins. But the boy hadn't reacted the way he expected, instead simply staring at him with those eerie green eyes, irritating him.

Draco could barely stop his eyes from flicking to the odd marks on his arms. When Pansy had taken over the conversation, he let himself look his fill of the unusual boy, taking in the bizarre scars on one arm and the fresh looking cuts on the other. He wondered why anyone would voluntarily put themselves through what was obviously intentional scarring. He then remembered the Dark Mark in his future, shivered and decided not to think about it as he fluffed his pillow.

He wasn't sure what to make of the transfer student. When they had first entered the compartment he had been lazy, almost contemptuous, right up until he threatened Pansy and all but kicked them out. Sure the Slytherins would say it was a strategic retreat, but the wild magic on the air that they all felt had certainly hastened their departure. Unfortunately Draco had to listen to Pansy complain about 'that horrible brute'.

But then in the Great Hall... McGonagall had called him Harry Potter! Draco could hardly coalesce his childhood images of the Saint Potter with the dangerous, wild boy he had met on the train. And then for him to be placed in Slytherin... after the Sorting he looked forward to seeing what the wild boy would make of the Slytherins and he certainly hadn't been disappointed. He dispatched the 6th and 7th years efficiently, using some sort of wandless fire-based magic (something he had never even heard of) and a metal object that made him much more wary of Muggles than he had been.

He had heard some rumor about what had happened in Diagon Alley the previous month and had been rather unnerved by the explanation that had been provided to him. Non-magical objects that seemed to mimic a concentrated _Reducto_, potentially incredibly lethal. He wondered if they were a one use item, or if they could be used many times in a row. If he could ever speak to Nasri away from the other Slytherins he would have to ask him.

Only now that he was alone in in his own bed could Draco admit that he wanted to get Nasri alone. The boy was exotic and incredibly attractive, the odd markings on his arms as well as the danger he exuded simply adding to the strange allure. The way he had leaned into Pucey, sensually telling him about the weapon he wielded, it had sent shivers through Draco in a way that had nothing to do with the danger they were all in. The rich accent was just a bonus.

And it seemed that if he wanted, he could have a chance with the Savior. While most of the children's storybooks had the Savior flying off into the sunset with a generic girl, it seemed that the flesh-and-blood version might actually Seek for the other team.

After the confrontation that had sent some of the Slytherins to Madame Pomfrey's questionable care, the rest of the students had settled in the common room to catch up with each other, although they were considerably more subdued than in previous years. Blaise was working on yet another conquest, one Taylor Boot, the younger brother of Terry Boot who was a Ravenclaw in their year. The Slytherins had grown used to seeing Blaise in various states of debauchery on the couches and ignored it, but Nasri had a rather calculating and interested gleam in his eyes. Taylor had glanced up at one point from Blaise's lap and looked at Nasri only to get a rather saucy wink in return, causing the boy to blush hotly before being distracted by Blaise again.

Yes, Draco could admit he was impressed by and attracted to the Savior, although he was unsure of what this meant for him. The Potters had been a Light family and the Malfoys were definitively Dark. They were on opposite sides of the quiet little war that was slowly destroying their community. Despite all of his misgivings, Draco couldn't exactly abandon his family, no matter how crazy he thought the Dark Lord was.

It was definitely going to be interesting to see where this was going to go. Nasri had distinctly said that he was at Hogwarts to train, most likely for the war, and he was literally in the viper's nest amongst the children of his enemies. But then again, Slytherins were notorious for being drawn to power, which was something Draco was sure that Nasri had in spades.

Draco flicked his wand and the ball of light up in the canopy of his bed winked out. He tucked his wand underneath his pillow and turned over on his side to sleep. At the very least, the quiet battle that was inevitable in Slytherin was going to be interesting.

**

* * *

SOMALIA IN THE NEWS:** Wow, lots has happened in Somalia in the last year! The al-Shabab (a militaristic Islamic group, supposedly linked with al-Qaeda) has pretty much taken over the country. They kicked the interim, UN-backed government out of the country completely once before the government took back Mogadishu by the skin of their teeth. They have lost the rest of the country to the al-Shabab, though, although Somaliland (the northern part of Somalia) seems to be pretty untouched. I don't know how long that is going to last though since the al-Shabab now seem to be gunning for the pirates in Puntland (the eastern most part of Somalia). They're also getting into it with the Ethiopians which is all bad news. The refugees from Mogadishu and Somalia as a whole have reached astronomical numbers and one has to wonder if there is anyone left in the country for the al-Shabab to conquer. Not to mention the overwhelming famine that's killing off the rest of them, a number that I am sure is going to increase at a faster rate now that the al-Shabab have banned foreign aid, proclaiming it a Western plot to ruin their country.

It does not look good for Somalia and I'm thinking Somaliland needs to be given its sanctioned autonomy if they want to have any hope of surviving this mess.

**

* * *

Cruor fidelitas:** (Latin) Blood loyalty

**A/N: **Thank (or don't thank) my husband for the rather voluminous descriptions in this chapter. He kept asking for more visualization and imagery, and this extremely long chapter was the result.

For those who are fans of the Crime genre, I **highly** recommend _Pistol Whipped_ by paddycakepadfoot. It's new and absolutely fabulous. It _is_ a bit slashy though, for my readers that do not like slash.

**PLEASE REVIEW!** All of your lovely reviews really helped my motivation to get this chapter out, even though it's been forever.


	23. Gum in the Paper

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU eventual slash HPDM **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would own several bookstores instead of just work at one.

**A/N:** A bit shorter than normal, but that's how the chapter ended up playing out because of the change in formatting of the last. And look, another chapter in a month and a half instead of nine!

"_Somali"_  
**"Ar****abic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**The Boy-Who-Lived A Slytherin!**

_The Daily Prophet_

Rita Skeeter

Late last night this intrepid reporter received a most interesting Owl from an Anonymous Hogwarts student. Apparently our illustrious Headmaster forgot to announce that our Golden Boy Himself is attending Hogwarts this year! And he's a Slytherin!

According to my Anonymous Source, a mysterious student showed up on Platform 9 ¾ with a strangely dressed Muggle, carrying bizarre metal devices.

Both student and Muggle had, "scars everywhere. The Muggle had scars up his entire left side, making him look like a barbarian. The [student] had weird designs on both arms made out of scars, some looking really fresh. You would think they hadn't heard of a Glamor charm!" Apparently they both boarded the train and weren't seen of again until after all of the First Years had been Sorted, when the Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall called out the name Harry Potter!

Does our Savior's return have anything to do with thehushed up incident that occurred in Diagon Alley last month? As I'm sure my Readers can remember, an Innocent Wizard was injured and had to go to St. Mungos with a bizarre wound the Healer this Reporter spoke to had been unable to identify.

The Wizard had been a part of a harmless group that had congregated near Ollivander's when there was a rumor that the Golden Boy Himself had appeared to buy a wand! According to the Wizards I spoke to, they were viciously attacked by Muggles and their 'Gums', metal contraptions apparently invented to imitate a _Reducto_. For the public's response to the Diagon Alley attack, see page 3. For information on 'Gums', see page 4.

Both the Headmaster and the Ministry have of course denied that Harry Potter had been in Diagon Alley that day. But with our Savior showing up at Hogwarts with a Muggle! and Gums, this reporter starts to wonder if the Headmaster was covering up for the Muggle that is now lodged at Hogwarts, a school for Wizards and Witches, not Muggles!

Where has our Savior been all these years? Has He been corrupted by the dangerous Muggles that attacked Diagon Alley? And what are Gums doing in a school with our Children? Are our children even Safe?

This Reporter will work tirelessly to find Answers to these Questions.

* * *

**2 September, 1996**

The first early meeting of the year was always a chore. Inevitably, the teachers would become lazy over the summer and enjoy their late mornings without 'those hooligans', in the words of Madam Hooch. Of course that meant when the school year started back up, they had to re-adjust their internal clocks, much to Albus' chagrin. Not to mention the fact that the Heads of House were often up late dealing with homesick first years and the over excitable students too interested in catching up with each other to sleep. As a result the teachers were often very cranky during the first week of school.

After his first year as Headmaster and its disastrous meetings, he learned to have both coffee and black tea available, both spiked with a diluted Invigoration Draught. Albus suspected that Severus knew about the laced beverages, seeing as he refused to drink any of them, but at least he hadn't informed the other Professors. He hardly needed the beverages anyway; the Potions Professor was never anything less than completely alert.

Albus Dumbledore watched from behind his desk as the Heads of House and various teachers associated with the Order stumbled in, making a beeline for the laced coffee. Sirius' lank and stringy hair looked even more unkempt next to soft blonde curls of the Muggle Studies Professor as they both reached for the cream. Hagrid towered over the group, leaning over their heads to reach the carafes while Flitwick stood a bit away and floated a full cup of tea to himself.

Normally the meeting would be attended by all of the professors on staff in a room just off the Great Hall instead of in the Headmaster's office, but given the theme of his agenda, Albus decided to let those teachers sleep in. They were too grateful in turn to question why a meeting would be occurring without them. Of course he had to include Pomona as she was a Head. While she wasn't associated with the Order, not for a lack of trying on Albus' part, she certainly was Light and wasn't likely to interfere with his plans.

As the sleepy teachers began looking around for a place to sit, Albus took great delight in conjuring up horrifically gaudy armchairs in a semi-circle around his desk. Several of the teachers winced at the garish fabric, but sat down anyway, instead paying attention to the hot drinks in their hands. Only Severus had been spared one of the chairs and only because he had conjured a stoic black seat before the rest of the staff had reached the refreshments.

"So!" Albus began cheerfully, "how did the students settle in last night?"

His smile brightened as he heard grumbles and mutterings about unruly teenagers from Pomona and Minerva while Severus simply leveled a potent glare at him.

"Good, good," he said, nodding to himself while he ignored the various scowls aimed his way. "I heard that there was a bit of a problem in Slytherin last night, Severus?"

The man straightened up in his seat and nodded tersely with a slight sneer on his lips. "Which is precisely why I was trying to reach you last night, Headmaster-"

Albus nodded, cutting the Potions Professor off with a wave of his hand. "I understand that, but I was, unfortunately, occupied elsewhere." Just like he was every first night of the year. He had paid his dues when he was a Transfiguration Professor and the portraits would certainly tell him if anything too dire occurred. "Has the matter been settled?"

Severus snorted. "In a manner of speaking."

"What! What the hell does that mean, Snivellus? Is Harry okay? Did the Slytherins hurt him?" Sirius demanded, his voice growing louder at each question. Any of the lingering sleepiness showing when he first arrived had been wiped from his face. Instead, a rather twisted mix confusion and worry with an undercurrent of unhinged malice was left. Albus had a brief moment of questioning his judgment in hiring the man, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. He needed Sirius there.

"Calm down, Sirius," he soothed. "I'm sure Harry is just fine, right Severus?" He ignored the snort coming from the dour man.

"Are yeh sure the little one's alrigh', Professor? In with those _Slytherins_ an' all..." Hagrid asked, wringing his hands together and completely ignoring Severus' deadly glare at the unintended insult.

Albus held up his hands in an effort to forestall an argument. "I must admit to having some misgivings myself, although I am unsurprised by the Sorting. I had hoped Harry would take more after his parents and be Sorted into Gryffindor, but alas that was not to be."

Both Minerva and Severus snorted, then turned to glower at the other.

"But Albus," Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor interrupted quietly. She was a fairly new recruit to the Order, but had been a Professor for years. "Will Harry Potter be okay in with all the Death Eaters' children?"

Severus' glare moved from Minerva over to Charity. "Ms. Burbage," he spat. "I would like to remind you that these students are still _children_ and not yet Death Eaters. Nor do the Dark Lord's followers come _only_ from Slytherin!"

Charity sat up straighter in her chair, clutching at her cup with white fingers. "And I would like to remind you, Mr. Snape, that-"

"Enough!" Albus cut through a rather familiar argument that often devolved into hexes. "I am sure Harry will be fine, isn't that right Severus."

"As I had been trying to say earlier," the Potions Professor began, his voice just as sharp as when he had been arguing with Charity. "Mr. Nasri, will be just fine in Slytherin. It is the other Slytherins I am worried about. Last night he managed to send five of my students to the Hospital Wing."

Sirius slapped his leg, interrupting Severus. "That's my boy! What happened? Did the little Slytherins come crying to you?"

"No, as a matter of fact I doubt they could have made it out of the Common Room, much less find me in the state your Golden Boy left them in!" Severus snapped.

A silence fell over the group after that announcement. Even Sirius looked shocked.

Minerva cleared her throat and broke the quiet. "Albus, are you sure bringing him here was a good idea? I mean, when I spoke to him yesterday he seemed to hold nothing but disdain for other people, and now we hear he's attacking the students?"

Albus furrowed his eyebrows. "No, he needs to be here among his own people. Perhaps we just haven't heard the whole story. Severus?"

The sullen man gave a quick shake of his head. "From what I was able to piece together from the students, Mr. Nasri's attack was in self-defense," he admitted grudgingly.

A bark-like laugh emitted from the newest Professor. "See? Those snakes deserved it!"

"Self-defense or not, _Black_, he still sent five students to the infirmary! No amount of provocation from students deserves that kind of retaliation!" Severus snarled.

"If you don't mind me asking," the clear voice of Pomona Sprout interrupted. "Just how did an uneducated boy put five students under Poppy's care?"

Five sets of eyes swung to look at the Headmaster. Only Severus and Sirius looked elsewhere, both remembering the stunning display of savage magic they had seen in Somalia.

"Well," Albus began, clearing his throat. "He is not completely uneducated. He had some training in aboriginal magic while in Africa."

"Not to mention the guns and knives both he and his... guard have stored about themselves," Severus added.

"_Guns_!" Charity squawked. "What do you mean_ guns_?" she demanded.

"It is nothing to worry about, Charity," Albus soothed.

"No, Albus," Pomona said, her sharp eyes darting between the Headmaster, Severus and Charity. "She is obviously upset about something. Before you sweep it under the rug, why don't you let her explain to the rest of us what upsets her so?" she asked.

It was not the first time Albus wondered why Pomona Sprout had been placed into Hufflepuff as a student instead of Slytherin. For all her genial nature in public and particularly around the students, she had a shrewdness about her that was not normally associated with Hufflepuff. He sighed, knowing that once she had a hold of something she wouldn't let it go and instead gestured for Charity to continue.

The woman took a couple deep breaths to calm down before giving a brief synopsis of what she knew about guns. The description was fraught with the prejudices and blind spots of a woman who had lived the majority of her life in the Wizarding World, but she was a Muggleborn and certainly knew her subject. At the end of her explanation the room was filled with the noise of objecting teachers while both Sirius and Severus remained silent.

"Quiet!" Albus demanded, injecting a bit of wandless magic into his voice to let it cut through the noise.

Unperturbed Minerva asked, "And _why_ did you allow a child, no matter who he is, and an unknown Muggle into Hogwarts with such barbaric contraptions?"

Albus gave a sigh. "Because he belongs here, Minerva. And we need him."

Pomona made a noise in the back of her throat and said, "For that Order no doubt. Especially since everyone else here seems to be members. To think, relying on a boy to fight your battles for you."

Her comment made several of the teachers flush and Albus shake his head.

"No matter your opinion on the politics of it, Pomona, the agreement I made with the boy and his, guardian, still stands, even if it had some unforeseeable consequences."

A snort came from the Potions Master. "Unforeseeable. I foresaw it, old man. You just didn't listen to me."

Albus waved a hand towards the man. "That is neither here nor there, I'm afraid. But the agreement is one of the things I wanted to speak with you all this morning about. Harry needs some extracurricular training, both so that he is up to speed with his classmates and has... other experience. From what Emmeline told me, she taught him the theoretical basics and a bit of wand magic, but he needs more if he's going to survive. The African magic might have worked down there, but up here he will be outclassed. After he gets more comfortable here, I was wondering, Sirius, if you, and perhaps Remus, would be willing to teach him a bit about dueling."

Sitting forward in his seat, Sirius nodded absently before his eyes focused more sharply on the Headmaster. "Absolutely. That'd give me a chance to get to know him better... I'll ask Remus the next time I talk to him." The man nodded to himself as his eyes shifted back out of focus.

Albus smiled and nodded. "Good, good. Let me know what Remus says. And Severus. Harry seems to know a form of Occlumency, but I was wondering if you would be willing to test him on it to make sure there aren't any holes and teach him Legilimency and perhaps anything else you think he needs."

A sneer formed on the Potion Master's face the moment Albus began to request something of him, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. I doubt it will be needed, but I'll see if I can impart any knowledge on that brat."

Ignoring the insult, Albus smiled at his recalcitrant Professor. "Good. I'm sure he'll be eager to learn something from you." Dutifully ignoring the twin snorts that came from both Minerva and Severus and their answering glares, the Headmaster turned to the rest of the group. "Does anybody else have anything to report?"

Minerva waved her cup of coffee in front of her negligently. "The usual first night fight in Gryffindor was a bit more enthusiastic than usual."

A snort came from Severus. "More enthusiastic? What did those heathens do this time?"

Albus shook his head as Minerva rounded on the Potions Professor and the meeting quickly devolved into insults and, once Sirius decided to add his opinion into the mix, hexes.

Rather quickly one of the spells missed their mark, splintering a shelf of trinkets. The same shelf that seemed to get broken every time he had a meeting with Minerva and Severus.

* * *

"Ahem, Mr. Potter?"

Nuri turned around to find the source of the noise only to find a half-pint teacher.

"I will only ask once, Professor, please call me Nasri. I find being called 'Potter' as offensive as you find 'Shorty'."

The Professor blinked before shaking his head. "Very well, Mr. Nasri. My name is Professor Flitwick. I wanted to ask if your guard will be attending every class with you this year."

At Nuri's abrupt nod the small man smiled and used his wand to float a chair over to a corner near the door.

"Then he at least ought to make himself comfortable," he said to no one in particular before returning to the front of the classroom. "Welcome, class, to your first day of your NEWT level charms. In the last five years we have focused primarily on memorizing and perfecting our pronunciation and wand-work for set spells. In the next two years we will be studying how variations can change the effect of a spell and when we can and cannot alter a particular incantation. For example..."

Professor Flitwick flicked the wand he had been gesturing with and said a gentle _Avis_. A couple small sparrows came flitting out of the tip and alighted on a few students' desks. The Professor abruptly whipped the wand down and the sparrows disappeared into smoke.

"As you saw, my movements were small and the incantation was spoken softly. But if instead you were to do it like this – _Avis!_" he shouted, his wand whipping through the same motion. At the upward flick a dozen hawks screeched from the tip, skimming the ceiling before dive-bombing the frightened students.

Just as the birds' talons were reaching the students they vanished into the same wisps of smoke the sparrows had. A couple of the students in blue and silver clapped while the rest of them stared at the Professor wide-eyed.

The Professor straightened his robe before looking back up. "You can see how important it is to know which spells can be altered and how to control it. Now I want you each to practice _Lumos_ on your own, varying your wand movement or your intonation to see the results you can get. Please, no shouting unless you want to spend the next day in the Hospital Wing getting your corneas regrown. Mr. Nasri, the wand movement is a simple upward flick while you say _Lumos_. To turn the light off, flick the wand back down while saying _Nox_. Let me know if you have any problems."

Ignoring all of the students around him while trying to concentrate turned out to be a lot more difficult than Nuri expected. The numerous voices with the randomly flashing lights around him were far more distracting than Nuri figured they ought to be given that he was used to the flash and bang of gunfire. But apparently it took a lot more concentration to understand a new branch of magic than to fire a gun sporadically.

Nuri kept flicking his wand upward while firmly speaking the incantation but nothing came out of the wand except an occasional sputter of dying light. He could feel Mujahid's amusement from where he sat and was getting frustrated and angry.

"Dhillo!" he bit out, ignoring the snort that came from the corner his 'guard' sat in. He whipped around to face the Professor that was helping out a student nearby. "Exactly how are you to focus your magics, Professor?"

Professor Flitwick startled at Nuri's sharp question and turned to the student with confusion marking his face. "What do you mean?"

"I am unsure what is unclear. How do you focus your magics when casting?" Nuri asked, schooling his irritability. When he heard a few insults questioning his placement with the sixth years his hand twitched in the direction of his gun.

"Um, imagine the spell working? If you do the wand movements and incantation correctly the spell should w-work," the Professor stuttered when Nuri leveled a glare his direction.

"Obviously not," he spat before turning his back on the Professor, instead diving into his core the way Ohin had taught him years before. He took a few seconds to admire the writhing ball of colored threads.

It had expanded in the years since he first began his lessons with the old Adept and took on varying hues that he had learned to recognize. He drew his attention back to the current task and directed one of the lighter colored threads to move away from the rest and slither down his arm and into his hand. It didn't take much to attune the end of the thread to the magic of his wand.

Opening his eyes he noticed that most of the class was now focused on him. Shrugging off the attention he turned his attention back onto his wand, vaguely noticing the feeling of his magics running thinly through his arm. Ignoring the wand-movements completely he firmly said _Lumos_ and watched as a strong white light erupted from the tip. It stayed lit for several seconds before he felt the thread attached to his hand snap back into place and the light blew out.

"Wonderful!" the Professor exclaimed while clapping behind him. "You even did the _Nox_ wordlessly! Amazing!"

The students who had actually seen Nuri perform the spell reacted quite differently though. Several looked calculating while the majority of them simply stood there gaping. One girl with wild hair was shaking her head, muttering to herself while several of the students around her looked angry.

Brushing it off Nuri turned back to his desk pondering how he would be able to attach a thread of his magic permanently to his hand. He knew he wouldn't be able to take the time to move a thread each time he wanted to cast a spell with the wand. He ignored a student sidling up to him as he considered winding several strands together to make them stronger when the boy cleared his throat.

Nuri turned to him and eyed the raven on his chest before looking the boy in the eye.

The boy cleared his throat again before speaking. "I was wondering how you did that. Flitwick didn't see it, but I know you didn't move your wand one bit."

Looking the boy over, a smile slid across Nuri's face and he shifted closer to the other student. He was sure the boy could feel his breath on his neck.

"I would be pleased to show you in my dormitory if you would like? Tonight, perhaps?" he asked. He leaned in to the brightly blushing boy, enjoying the student's reaction. A sharp rap sounded from the front of the room and he looked up to see the Professor beginning another lecture. He smiled at the boy and turned back to the front of the classroom, returning his full attention to the Professor.

* * *

"Mr. Potter."

The lack of response had many of the students turning their heads.

"Mr. Potter..."

The rest of the class looked at the errant student.

"Mr. Potter!"

Draco winced as McGonagall's pitch turned shrill, hurting his aristocratic ears. He and several other Purebloods turned to glare at her but her eyes were solely on the newest student in the classroom who was rooting around in a bag.

The Professor stormed up to his desk, rapping her wand against its surface. The noise echoed in the stone-walled classroom, something that did not affect the Gryffindors but caused most of the Hufflepuffs and several Slytherins to flinch.

"Mr. Potter," she said, each syllable sounding like another rap against the desk. "I do not know what you were taught in Africa, but in the civilized world you do not ignore someone when they are speaking to you!"

Nuri slowly sat up, a writing implement clutched in his hand what Draco had seen Muggleborn firsties use, and looked at McGonagall calmly.

"In Africa, we do not insult someone by calling them an improper name."

Silence rang through the classroom as Professor McGonagall's face began to blotch.

"Since we have the niceties cleared up, Professor, perhaps you begin the class?" He turned his head away as he situated some paper in front of himself.

Several seconds passed before he looked back up at the speechless Transfiguration Professor. McGonagall opened and closed her mouth several times before huffing and flouncing up to the dais.

"Welcome," McGonagall bit out before clearing her voice and starting again. "Welcome, to the NEWT level Transfiguration. To get into this class you had to achieve the required E on your OWLs, although certain exceptions have been made in the past. I expect this level of work to continue, from _all_ of you."

Draco almost expected to Gryffindor Head of House to do the crass thing and stare pointedly at the newest Slytherin. While mildly impressed that she managed to maintain a level of poise, he was unsurprised by the Gryffindors who did so in her stead.

"You have learned both animate-to-animate and animate-to-inanimate transfiguration in your fourth year. This term we will be working on inanimate-to-animate transfiguration. You will find that it is far more difficult to make a living, breathing organism out of an object. You have to keep the spell firmly in mind and have both the proper intonation and wand movements. If you don't, you might well forget to transfigure some lungs into the poor animal." With a flick of her wand a teacup appeared in front of each student. "Today you will be focusing on turning these teacups into mice. Any kind of mouse will do. The incantation is –"

"Professor?" Nuri interrupted.

The blotches began to form again on McGonagall's pale face as she paused before gesturing for him to continue.

"Why?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head once, hard. A couple strands of hair came loose, a startling look for the normally staid woman. "What? Why what?"

"Why turn cups into mice?"

The blotches turned darker. "What? That's how we work up, Mr. Po– Mr. Nasri," she ground out. "You can't expect to turn a button into a horse overnight!"

The boy shook his head. "Work up? Like saucers into polar bears? You want to replace a dead species? Can they even breed?"

Professor McGonagall had turned an even red, her anger coloring in the blotches. Half words and nonsensical noises came from her mouth. Even the Slytherins hadn't been able to frustrate and fluster her so badly! But given how angry it seem to make the Gryffindors, Draco thought it time to interfere.

"Mice can be used as a form of distraction in a fight," he interrupted. "Just transfigure some pebbles around your opponent and suddenly they have a bunch of squeaking animals underfoot. Or maybe you just want to feed your cat?"

The majority of the Slytherins began laughing and the Gryffindors' ire was transferred to them. Arguments broke out between the two houses and McGonagall's anger was quickly forgotten as she attempted to referee.

Draco watched the ensuing chaos and tried to ignore the calculating stare he could feel from the new student.

* * *

**Dhillo:** Somali for whore. Well, according to the website I was looking at. It's a little hard to determine complete veracity.


	24. Occlumency

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU eventual slash HPDM **dark!Harry**

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would own several bookstores instead of just work at one.

**A/N:** It's been a crazy year. I got laid off, moved 2500 miles across the country, settled down in a new state and got a new job. I hadn't forgotten about this story, but needless to say it took a backburner to life. Does anyone who reads this live in New Orleans?

I'd like to thank all the people that have been PMing me, asking about this story. Between you, my husband and my former roommate I have been harangued enough to have the impetus to carry on. No, this story has NOT been abandoned.

I dedicate this story to Nanowrimo. You distracted me from this story last year, but hopefully this year you will give me the drive to finish it.

"_Somali__"_  
**"****Ar****abic****"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

**Heir**Heir**Heir**

**End of September, 1996**

"Well! It seems like this month has gone smoother than I had thought it would!" the Headmaster said when all of the Heads had settled down to first of their weekly meeting for the school year.

Severus snorted. "If one could ever call a month at this institution smooth."

Ignoring the blithe comment Albus smiled and looked at each of his Professors. "Before we get down to the nuts and bolts of the meeting, how has our new student been handling the adjustment?"

"He had some problems starting out in my class," Flitwick said. "He said he did not understand how to focus his magic properly. I didn't quite understand what the problem was. In fact, he still has some problems with wanded magic, but he shows a strong aptitude for wandless magic that I have never seen before!" The excitement bled through the small Professor's voice. "It seems to be limited to something he calls 'destroyer' magic. I haven't had a chance to sit down and talk to him more about it, but it's very exciting!"

Minerva nodded stiffly, her neck hardly bending. "From what I understand he can do most of the Defense magic wandless, and picks it up faster than he does any other class. Transfiguration seems particularly difficult and any sort of conjuration is completely beyond him. I spend a good amount of time trying to explain it to him, but he can't even get a fizzle out of his wand!"

Albus ran his fingers through the ends of his beard. "I'm not too surprised he does well in Defense. It was James' best class, but it seems odd that he has so many problems in Charms which was one of Lily's best. Maybe the aboriginal magic interfered with his innate magic somehow..."

"I don't think it works like that Albus," Pomona interrupted.

The Headmaster waved his hand dismissively. He turned his head to face his Transfiguration Professor when she gave an indelicate snort.

"He does have quite the attitude on him though. And I thought James Potter had been bad... in the span of fifteen minutes he ignored me, inferred that I was insulting him and then questioned my teaching methods!"

Albus furrowed his eyebrows. "And what problems did he have with your teaching?"

Minerva huffed. "He started by asking why he would ever want to know how to turn a teacup into a mouse and then mocked other inanimate-to-animate spells."

"The brat does have a point," Severus said.

Heading off the anger he could see building in Minerva, Albus held up a placating hand. "Now, now Minerva, Severus. Did anything else happen in your class, Minerva?"

Minerva narrowed her eyes at Severus before turning back to the Headmaster. "He treats the other students like peasants to his royalty, or behaves as if they're in his bed!"

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Filius gave a vigorous nod. "While I didn't have any of the problems with Mr. Nasri as Minerva seemed to, he did seem to have a certain disregard for the other students except for one or two that he seems to focus a lot of his attention on. I didn't pay much attention to it, so I don't know what was being said, but now that I think about it he did seem to get awfully close to a couple of the boys in the class."

The second eyebrow joined the first in his surprise. He sat back and ran his fingers along the edge of his beard. "Oh really? That's interesting."

"Oh really, Albus. Are you sinking so low as to become interested in the sex lives of the students now?" Pomona's voice was sharp with derision. "What's next, their loo habits?"

Albus shook his head. "Not at all, Pomona..."

"I don't know what the problem is," she interrupted. "I had the boy all week and had no issues with him. He did not insult me, my field or any of the students. Nor did he seem like he was about to have a roll in the puffapods with any of the boys. I don't know why you are all so focused on the poor boy!"

"Because he's a heathen! He disregards authority, treats the male students like a harem and the females like harlots!"

Four heads turned sharply to look at the irate Transfiguration professor.

"What in the blazes does that mean, Tabby?"

Minerva sniffed at the Potions professor before answering. "He rarely speaks to the girls, outwardly avoiding them in my classroom. One time I tried to set partners for an exercise and instead of speaking to the girl he spent the majority of the time gibbering to that guard of his and sending nasty looks to his partner, Miss Brown. I have also had several complaints from the female Gryffindors about Mr. Potter's snide remarks about their 'racy' clothing when they're not wearing their robes!"

Tapping his chin Filius added, "now that you mention it, he does seem to avoid the females in the class, although the times he has partnered with them I didn't notice any particularly nasty behavior from him or his guard."

The Headmaster turned to Pomona who shrugged. "Most of the work done in my class is individual. I found that requiring partners just reduced the students' hands-on time."

Severus nodded sharply. "Same for my class. Although he does tend to sit next to the males, I had not thought anything of it."

Albus nodded to himself. "Given the culture he came from, I am not too surprised. I had heard rumors of lingering misogyny in the more primitive cultures, but he will have to learn that it is not acceptable here. I will speak to him. How has he been fairing amongst your Snakes, Severus?"

Leaning back in his seat, Severus' eyes became distant. "I am... unsure. There has not been any major incident that has required my attention since the incident after the Welcoming Feast and I have heard no gossip from any of the Slytherins. As far as I've seen he is studious, but he seems to have a ruthlessness about him that his father never had."

"What do you mean?" the Headmaster asked.

The Potions master waved off the question. "Nothing definitive. It is unimportant. I believe the Slytherins are biding their time though, seeing what else he will do before they act."

Albus nodded. "Keep an eye open then. I want to make sure there will be no problems for him in that house. I want you to start the individual lessons with him soon. Maybe will know more then..."

**Heir**Heir**Heir**

**October 1996**

**The Boy-Who-Lived-In-Africa!**

_The Daily Prophet_

Rita Skeeter

After numerous unanswered questions to the Headmaster and Ministry as to Where our Golden Boy has been, this intrepid Reporter finally spoke to an anonymous Source from within the Ministry. It turns out that our precious Hero was kidnapped at a young age by a Tribe in Africa!

Harry Potter, our inspirational Boy-Who-Lived, lived the majority of his life in the Backwaters of a Savage land called Somalia!

In the interests of discovering more about the Country-That-Kidnapped, This Reporter contacted Gringotts for information. Gringotts has a branch in Egypt, the closest thing to Civilization our Boy-Hero probably had!

One of the Wizards who works there told This Reporter that Somalia is a country full of Magicless Heathen Muggles who know of nothing but Death and Murder! Apparently, a group of Hapless Wizards who were simply on a fact finding trip in Somalia was recently Brutally Murdered by a group of Savage Muggles.

And was any Reparation for this Atrocity made? No!

When the Wizards of Gringotts went looking for Justice, they found only Lawlessness. According to these Brave Wizards, Dark Lords that the Muggles call 'Warlords' rule by the gum in Somalia. There was no magic community for the Grieving Families to turn to for Justice.

And this was the country our Savior grew up in? Several Wizards at Gringotts believe our Savior might have been raised by one of these Muggle Dark Lords! How could the Ministry or the Headmaster allow such a thing to happen?

In an effort to find out What Happened?, I tracked down the location of the Family our Savior lived with when he was Kidnapped. After many fruitless searches, I finally found his Aunt and Uncle located in a Muggle Cemetery! According to the stones in the Cemetery, they died on our Savior's 8th birthday! Coincidence? I doubt it! Was it the At-Large Death Eaters wanting to punish the Boy-Who-Lived? Or was it the Dark Lord of Somalia!

How did our Golden Boy end up being raised by a Dark Lord? And Why didn't the Ministry or the Headmaster do anything about it? And what does it mean for the Children at Hogwarts? And the Muggle in their midst?

This Reporter will keep you updated on her Search for the Truth.

*Heir*Heir*Heir*

"You are late," the Potions' Master snapped as he heard the door to his classroom swing open.

He had not been looking forward to this meeting and was loathe to even be there. The Headmaster had spent a good portion of the afternoon convincing him of how necessary it was to evaluate the newest addition to the sixth years. The old man had tried to spark his ire against the boy, mentioning his father and godfather and how proud they would be of him. The senile wizard had tried to get him to capitulate by manipulating his desire to be free of the snake bastard, but nothing could convince him to willingly enter a room with the child, much less teach the boy. Finally he had to lean on his authority and use what little blackmail he had to get the professor to comply, leaving the man in question in a downright dour mood.

When the door clicked shut without a response Professor Severus Snape looked up from the papers he had been aimlessly shuffling. Harry Potter, possibly the most frightening student Severus had ever seen walk through the halls of Hogwarts, stood side by side with his... bodyguard, both wearing Muggle clothing and an alarming number of munitions.

Nobody who knew Severus could claim he was a stupid man. The only reason he had ever survived as long as he had was because he refused to be blinded by emotion or desire, unlike the Headmaster who needed hope badly enough that he refused to see the Boy-Who-Lived for who he truly was.

But Severus had not forgotten the cupboard he had seen eight years prior, nor the dead Muggles that accompanied it. He knew what it was like to be ignored, shunted aside until someone needed you. He knew what it was like to crave comfort and love in the way a child only could, and the burning emptiness that seeped into your bones when it was thrown back into your face. He knew how that feeling could turn to hatred, hatred that would burn you up inside, leave you feeling nothing but glee at the pain inflicted on others.

What had been only a suspicion all those years ago when they visited Privet Drive had turned into almost certainty when they had finally found the boy in that Merlin forsaken country.

The Boy Savior had killed his family, had probably killed others. He had probably enjoyed it too.

And now the Headmaster had brought him to Hogwarts.

Severus spread his fingers wide on his desk and closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

"While you are in my classroom you will remove those _guns_ from your person. I will not have them in this room. And your little pet Muggle will have to wait elsewhere." He looked up through the strands of his hair, seeing that neither the Potter boy nor the Muggle had moved. "Did you hear me, Mr. Potter?" he sneered, straightening up.

The boy's eyes narrowed and Severus braced himself for a confrontation, but instead turned to his bodyguard, speaking in the same lyrical language he had heard the boy speak in Somalia.

Whatever he said seemed to work though. The Muggle simply sneered and nodded sharply before turning and leaving the room. Despite his best effort, Severus couldn't stop his eyes from tracing over the scars that ran down his neck and arm, puckered and twisted in a way that simply didn't happen in the Wizarding world. In fact, Severus couldn't remember seeing anything like it in the Muggle world either.

When the door snicked shut Severus glanced back to the Potter boy, easily fixing a sneer onto his face at the sight of the recalcitrant child.

"Mr. Potter, I believe I told you I wouldn't have those guns in my classroom." He felt his mouth part in anger, the muscles pulling his lip tight when the boy didn't move.

The boy shifted slightly causing Severus' hand to jerk towards his wand. He stopped himself, if barely, and rage wash through him. He shouldn't be scared of Potter's spawn! He stepped forward and barked, "Potter!"

Potter blinked slowly at him, sighing before opening his mouth. "Perhaps, Professor, you should call me by my given name if you care to receive a favorable response. If not..." he trailed off and seemed to shrug towards the gun on his back.

Rage, hot and red, swept through the Professor. Echos of taunts and hexes bounced through his head as he tried to control his reaction. It seemed like the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree after all and this brat was just like his father.

"_Legilimens!_"

When Severus landed in the middle of a dark forest, he knew he had screwed up. He couldn't be considered a patient man. While war and spying honed his mien and helped him control his temper, he was still very brash. His mother always said he was too proud and that he inherited his father's temper.

Brushing those thoughts aside, the Professor looked around. Tall trees stood up all around him, seeming to stretch on forever into the fog. Every tree stood at the same distance from each other, even with the same width in their trunk. The repetition made Severus' eyes ache as he tried to pick out some detail that he could orient on in the darkness. While the Headmaster had made some mention of Potter having some Occulmency training, the old coot had failed yet again to mention the extent.

Deciding to make the most of the opportunity, he wandered through the makeshift forest, holding his wand at the ready as he opened his eyes wide, looking for any movement, anything at all. But the pine needles didn't move, there was no wind in this odd mindscape. Most wizards hid behind walls and wards, locking up their minds as tight as a fortress to keep Legilimens out. Despite his extensive study into the topic, Severus couldn't remember any reference being made to a physical plane used as a barrier. If only he could figure out what the boy was hiding.

A glimmer in one of the trunks caught his eye. The trees had deep red bark that buckled and furrowed, creating deep fissures in their sides. In one of the crevices he saw something glint and shift, like the rays of sun on a lake. He stepped up to the tree to get a closer look when he felt a light tug on his left arm. He frowned, looking down sharply at his forearm, the mark hidden by his thick robes. He had never felt anything but pain from that accursed tattoo, but now there was a light tug, almost tingle, drawing him away from the tree.

He followed it, keeping his wand arm stiff and ready, winding through numerous identical trees. While he certainly felt his legs take steps and the ground changing under his feet, his eyes kept telling him that he hadn't gone anywhere. Frankly it was making him a bit dizzy.

The tugging grew more insistent as he went along, reaching a nearly painful level by the time he stepped around yet another tree and finally saw something different.

Another tree, unlike any of the others. It shared a similar rough shape and furrowed bark, but instead of the deep red, the bark was a deep black. While the other trees almost seemed to glisten, this tree seemed to be oozing. A black tar dripped slowly down between the crevices, sliding down the bark until it piled up at the roots. The tree looked misshapen, its trunk bowing and buckling. It looked like an old withered hag amongst the straight, tall trees surrounding it.

Severus went to take a step forward, his mark urging him on, when something snapped up and grabbed his ankle. His arms flailed out, trying to keep him from falling, and he caught himself, his hands sinking into the moist soil as he tried to gain purchase with his free leg. Levering himself back up he reached for his wand which had fallen with him, only to see the soil sink down and envelop it.

He felt a flash of fury, amplified by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He grabbed at his ankle in an attempt to free it. He felt bark, rough enough to scratch up his fingers and too tightly wrapped around his ankle to remove without his wand. One of the roots from a nearby tree had popped out of the soil to grab him. He was caught, without a wand, in someone else's mind.

He crouched down over his trapped foot, his mind rapidly flipping through what little wandless magic he knew and trying to remember any of the theories regarding using your magic in another person's mind when a slow fog started rolling in. It was cold, wet, and seemed to sneak under his robes to soak him to the skin. In a matter of minutes he was no longer able to see past the closest circle of trees.

Severus Snape hadn't survived as long as he had by being stupid. Like any good spy he knew his faults intimately. He was a brash man, prone to striking out when certain buttons were pushed. This was a widely known fact. He had learned how to create false triggers for the Dark Lord to manipulate, a facade to keep him from learning his real weaknesses. When he was set off, he learned to mitigate the damage and try to see the situation rationally. Everything he had trained and honed in himself was screaming at him. He had screwed up.

Unable to see anything in the dense fog he sharpened his hearing, using a wandless spell to improve its range, a spell that was downright dangerous if not used in quiet areas. A continual drip-drip sound assaulted his ears, the sound of condensed water dripping off of the tree limbs. The academic side of Severus' brain wondered whether or not the laws of nature could be suspended in the mindscape, or if there were limitations. The survivalist part of the man listened, trying to hear anything other than the nearly deafening drips.

Just past the drops, in a deep register nearly beyond his hearing, there was a low grumble, a rumbling growl that slowly got louder, muffling the drip-drip of the trees. Severus quickly canceled out his spell. The growl seemed much quieter, but it was still clearly audible in the still mindscape. The sound crawled up his spine, sending shivers through his body. His skin broke out in a cold sweat as the memory of his previous encounters with a werewolf flashed in his mind.

A flicker of shadow teased the edge of Severus' vision. He whipped his head around to try to catch a glimpse, but it was gone again. He tucked a lock of fog-wet hair behind a ear, his hand shaking and he listened to the slowly escalating growl to try to pinpoint its location. His eyes caught another shadow, moving between two of the farther trees. Whatever creature was growling was hidden just beyond the fog, flitting between the trees and always out of sight.

He was staring intently at the last spot he saw the shadow when a snarl ripped through the trees from directly behind him. He cried out, falling forward into the soil as he tried to get away from the creature. He twisted around, wrenching his ankle which was still trapped by the tree root.

A large wolf padded out from behind a tree. Its fur was a bright grey, standing up from its body in spikes and its lips were pulled back into a snarl. Severus couldn't pull his eyes away from its deadly sharp teeth. Saliva dripped of the point, making the wolf look rabid.

His breath came out in short pants and fingers scrabbled at the root trapping his ankle. Bark and wood embedded itself under his fingernails but the root would not give. As the wolf stepped closer he started yanking on it with his whole body, desperate to get away from the snarling creature.

"Krul, to me."

A clear voice rang through the forest, the fog dissipating immediately. The wolf whined before trotting, trotting!, over to the architect of the whole mindscape. A cruel smile curled the boy's lips as he scratched the wolf's ears.

"Beautiful, is he not? Pulled straight from your mind, your worst fear apparently. Although why you would be scared of such a creature…" he trailed off as he ran his fingers through the wolf's fur, the creature sitting at his feet like some Labrador.

Severus took the opportunity to stand, crouching back over his foot which was now screaming in pain. The wolf was immediately back on its feet, all haunch and fang as another growl ripped through him. Severus let out a small cry, barely catching himself from falling again.

"Then again, maybe I can see your point. He can look fearsome, I suppose, to those who have not seen anything worse."

The boy took a step towards him. He was back in traditional clothing, very similar to the ones he was wearing when Severus first saw him. The guns were gone, but they hardly seemed needed with him trapped and a snarling creature at his beck and call. Severus stayed very still as the two creatures approached him, tensing every muscle.

The Potter whelp ran his finger over his shoulder, playing with the hem of the robe. Severus focused all of his attention on stopping the small tremors that wanted to wrack his body. The wolf's fangs glinted just beyond the boy's arm and Severus remembered the deep cut that had been on Albus' arm after he had attempted Legilimency on the boy.

"Do you think you'd be infected if he bit you right here?"

The wolf lunged at him.

Severus cried out and threw himself backwards onto to land on the flagstones of his classroom. He scrambled up, defensively stepping behind a desk as he looked around frantically for the werewolf. Only the boy remained.

"What-," the Potions Master took a deep breath, the familiar smell of his classroom calming him down. His hair was still dripping and he was getting distinctly chilled, his clothing still soaking wet. With the adrenaline leaving his system he could suddenly feel the injuries he had taken in the mindscape, something that should have been impossible. But the dull ache that was starting to throb from the tips of his fingers and the throbbing from his ankle belied the theory. He took another breath before finishing his question. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Potter asked, perching on one of the desks. "I want a great many things, most of which have nothing to do with this frigid country."

He lifted his arm, tapping his lips with his finger. The wide sleeve of his shirt slid down his arm and the scars that littered it seemed to glint in the candle light. He didn't look human.

"But now that you mention it, I think there are a few things you could help me with. The Headmaster thinks that the school curriculum plus a few select spells on the side will be sufficient to train me to defeat your warlord. I, however, have been hearing whispers about different branches of magics from the Slytherins. According to the rumors from the Gryffindors, you are a master in these dark magics."

Severus' eyes snapped up. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what you're talking about Potter. Dark magic takes over a person if they are not careful. It is not something you dabble in and play with!"

"My name is Nasri, Professor. Call me by such or the next time we find ourselves in such a position I will not be so lenient."

Severus looked at the boy sharply. The child's hair was wild, just like his father. He had the same strong jaw and the same easily broken nose, but that was where the similarities ended. Both of his parents had been tall, but Nasri had a wiry build, too small but well muscled. A light glinted behind the boy's eyes, one that Severus did not want to know the source of. They were the same color as Lily's, but still looked nothing like hers. This was not the child of James Potter and Lily Evans. This creature was something else entirely. And he was their only hope to defeat the Dark Lord.

"Very well, Mr. Nasri," Severus said, brushing some bark off of his robes. "I will teach you what I know, but you will learn at the pace I set and not study outside of this room. I will not have you go insane before you kill the Dark Lord. Is that understood?"

The creature smiled and only years of spying kept Severus from shuddering. "Understood, _Professor_."

**Heir**Heir**Heir**

"-tle tramp! I had to hear it from a _Gryffindor_ of all things! How could you do that?"

Shouting met Nuri's entrance to the Slytherin common room after yet another lesson with Snape. It had been several weeks since their first disastrous meeting, but Nuri thought he was making progress with the recalcitrant man. As soon as the door cracked open the yelling broke through the silencing spell placed permanently on the portal.

He paused for a brief moment, a bit startled, before entering and looking around. The room was silent aside from the screaming match taking place between two Slytherins near a fireplace. Every eye was trained on the pair, several of them rather gleeful at the prospect of entertainment and blackmail material.

"You little slut, what are you trying to do, sleep your way up through the house?"

Nuri's eyes swung to the pair that he had noticed peripherally on his sweep of the room. Blaise Zabini was towering over a visibly spooked but defiant Taylor Boot. It seemed that the little dream couple had split. Too bad, really. While not a fan of public affection, Nuri found it amusing how they would drape all over each other in the common room. He found it even moreamusing that they both surreptitiously eyed him without the other's notice.

Blaise's comment seemed to snap something in the little Slytherin though and Taylor straightened his back. "Sleep my way up through the house, as if I improved my standing somehow by fucking the slut of Slytherin!"

Blaise's skin darkened and a snarl curled his lips. Nuri thought his teeth were quite white and striking next to his dark skin, something he didn't see often at home where dental charms were not available. The effect was just as startling as it had been a couple nights ago when he was muffling his cries with a white pillowcase.

"As if I would let you fuck me. You were born to be a bottom, you little Mudblood. You would just lay there on your back and beg for me to take you!"

Taylor fisted his hands at his side, clenching them hard enough that Nuri could see flecks of red along the edge of his fingernails. "Beg? Ha! As if you were ever good enough for me to beg!"

"That's not how I remember it!"

"Well obviously you were Obliviated a few too many times as a baby!"

"Fuck you! Was Nuri able to make you cry and beg the way I could?" Blaise demanded.

Nuri smirked inwardly at the use of his given name. The only black Slytherin had been very insistent on calling him Nasri until he realized that Nuri wouldn't fuck him the way he wanted until he bent his pretty little neck. Apparently the boy had gotten used to using his proper name after screaming it a few times. Nuri didn't really care about what he was called, but he took perverse pleasure in getting the proud Slytherin boys to bend. The other houses were too easy in comparison.

"The way you could? Hah! A Gryffindor could fuck better than you!" Taylor shouted, his skin turning a rather unbecoming shade of red, very unlike the flush of pink that crept along his neck when he orgasmed. "And you'd never be able to fuck better than Nuri. He had me screaming and begging long before fucking me into the mattress!"

Nuri could feel Mujahid subtly shift behind him as most of the Slytherins' eyes slid towards them. He supposed that his name hadn't come up yet in the argument since most of the students seemed surprised.

Nuri suspected that he would be having a much easier time finding bed partners from then on, given that more than a few Slytherins looked at him with poorly concealed lust after the revelation.

Ignoring the still screaming pair Nuri winked at a particularly fit brunet before heading to bed. He doubted any of his year mates would be following any time soon.

**Heir**Heir**Heir**

The candles guttered and sparked as Draco turned down his bed. He could hear Blaise's faint snore, one of the only Slytherins already in bed after the screaming match in the common room. He went to bed very shortly after the little Boot had told him off, describing in detail the ways the new student had been better in the sack than the dark-skinned boy, much to the delight of all the female students. And a couple male students, one tow-headed one in particular.

Draco's fingers worked mechanically at his buttons while his mind spun off a million miles away from the practiced motions. He couldn't deny that his interest in the foreign boy was piqued, and he was foreign whether or not Britain was his country of birth. Everything from the way he spoke, his bearing and how he interacted with other people highlighted just how differently he grew up. Draco didn't know much about muggle cultures, or really even many wizarding cultures outside of Europe, but Nuri was strange to him. He had not imagined that any group of people could be so wildly different from another, that it would cause a base difference in understanding, one with explosive consequences.

Blowing out a candle, Draco quickly pulled the duvet over his legs, reclining against the pillows and headboard. His eyes traced the shadows dancing across the wall as he twisted the blankets between his fingers. He knew about the altercation in Diagon Alley, everyone did. His father had dismissed it as the Prophet's overblown hyperbole and so Draco had not given it any more thought, particularly since he had never heard of any spell or muggle device that could cause the mayhem they had described.

But now, now he wondered if his father hadn't been too hasty.

Draco was no stranger to combat or training. His father knew the Dark Lord was coming back and had decided from an early age that Draco was going to be ready to serve Him. The idea of choice never entered the equation. Every Saturday from when he was five until he was eleven, and every weekend during his winter and summer breaks, was dedicated to experiencing and learning different curses and hexes. His father had even gone as far as to bring in a Master in the wizarding arts to teach him some hand-to-hand combat (a Pureblood wizard should never resort to violence, but you shouldn't expect a Mudblood to follow those rules). Draco had learned everything from simple disarming techniques to fighting multiple attackers. He got very good at reading people as a result, and he would be damned if Nasri wasn't one of the most dangerous people he had ever met.

From the first day on the train, the boy just radiated danger. From the way he moved to the sheer confidence with which he handled people spoke of a facility that Draco had no interest in combating. While the muggle trailing the Savior did not radiate the same level of warning, he certainly was not the weakling Draco had been taught muggles were. While he likely would have some problems with magic, Draco doubted it would keep the man down for long.

Some footsteps sounded outside the door, breaking Draco's train of thought. The door squealed as it opened, causing him to wince. He didn't understand why the house elves seemed incapable of keeping up with the castle. It was nearly two millenia old, but there were buildings far older in the wizarding world that seemed far newer. Theo walked in, glancing around at the beds before closing the door. He nodded to Draco before walking over to his trunk to start getting ready for bed.

Draco's eyes flicked over to the window, or at least the facsimile there of. Being down underground didn't allow for much fresh air, but at least magic made up for the view. He watched a bird fly by the mirage as his mind drifted. Nasri had seemed completely dangerous from the off, but only since getting to Hogwarts did a seductive side start to make itself known.

Before that night there had only been whispers, hints of the Savior's preferences and lasciviousness. Normally Draco would have dismissed it as rumor, particularly since it involved the 'Golden Boy'. But Nasri's bearing had shifted. The first couple weeks Nasri's body language had screamed death for anyone who got in his way. Draco was unsure of whether or not it was intentional, but it did result in a wide berth in the hallways. Now it had a softer side, a slow movement that reminded him more of silk bed sheets than sharp attacks.

And Draco had been looking.

The first night he had suspected that Nasri's interests flicked the same way, but after tonight he was certain. The interest he had been harboring since that first night had flared to new life as he listened to the argument between Blaise and his latest toy, one who had far more spark than Blaise's normal fair. Or perhaps that was just because of his association with the mysterious Savior.

Said student had walked into the common room right in the middle of the argument and had the audacity to seem amused. He watched as the fight got more and more heated, before leaving, winking at a cute fourth year and heading to their room. Draco couldn't help the hot flash of jealousy that burned through him, urging him to cross the room and throttle the younger boy. He restrained himself, if barely. It didn't help that the boy had blushed a very becoming shade of pink and had a stupid little smile plastered on his face as his friends ribbed him under their breaths. Draco just wanted to replace that pink with a shocking red that only comes from extreme violence.

His eyes skittered over the last bed in the room, the newest, with its curtains firmly drawn. It looked forbidding in a way he had never associated with the Hogwarts beds before.

Nasri was an enigma to him, one he desperately wanted to crack. He didn't know what it was about the boy that caused everyone to lose their cool, from the Headmaster who seemed desperate to get control over his recalcitrant Savior, to the Purebloods who were better trained than the harlots they were acting like, to Draco himself, who had bigger problems than crushing on a boy who wouldn't pay attention to him. Now if only he could remember that the next time he saw Nasri make a pass at someone.


	25. Order of the Phoenix

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU, eventual slash HPDM, **dark!Harry**.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would be traveling, not working.

**A/N:** 50,113 words and won! Unfortunately that was not the end of the story, but it DOES mean I have 9 chapters that need editing, but they are _written_ and raring to go. This chapter is ridiculously long, more than 10,000 words. Enjoy!

*ahem* Pardon the mix ups. When it takes 2+ years to get three chapters out, you tend to forget the minor characters. Hopefully it's all fixed now!

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**October 1996**

It was getting quite late in the evening when Nuri and Mujahid finally made their way out of the dungeons and up to the Headmaster's office. The corridors were silent, the youngest students long since tucked away into bed while the older ones spent the last bits of their evening studying or visiting in their respective common rooms. The Slytherin common room had been quiet, the undercurrent of whispered conversations humming in the background like a particularly irritating insect.

Nuri found the quasi political machinations between the young Slytherins amusing, if a bit tiring. Very few people dared such a thing in the Nasri compound. If they did, they were interrogated within an inch of their life before being strung up and left to die as an example. It was good for the kids to see. There was no reason to allow rebellion to foment if it could be nipped so they knew better than to think they could get away with rebellion.

Their exit from the Slytherin common room had not gone unnoticed, but since Nuri and Mujahid had made a habit of leaving the dungeon at irregular hours to spar, the rest of the Slytherins dismissed them, returning to their conversations. Nobody would look for them so nobody would notice that they were leaving Hogwarts grounds that night.

Their footsteps echoed down the stone corridors, their weapons clinking softly despite being wrapped up in their ma-awis. Neither of them spoke a word as they made the winding journey up to the Headmaster's tower.

The aged wizard was waiting for them when they finally reached the gargoyle, his smile stretching his wrinkles and crinkling his eyes. The smile dimmed a little when he caught a glimpse of the pair, eyes darting from Mujahid's bandolier to Nuri's AR-15 securely strapped around his torso, but he quickly brightened, opened his arms out wide before greeting them.

"Well then, I am glad to see that you were able to make it up here on time. I must admit to being a little worried since you were all the way down in the dungeon. But! On we go, on we go. We mustn't be late." The Headmaster turned towards the stone gargoyle, either not noticing or blatantly ignoring the irritated look on Nuri's face.

They made their way up the last stairs into the old man's office. Nuri let his eyes flick around the office, drawn to the spindly silver objects lining the Headmaster's bookcases. They clicked away with no visible means or purpose other than distracting any visitors. He pulled his gaze away as the Headmaster pulled out an old sock, holding it out while smiling gaily.

Nuri simple raised an eyebrow while Mujahid ignored him completely. The elder Somali's eyes were fixed on the shelves of moving objects. By the minute twitches that Nuri could see in the scars of his neck, he knew that the man wanted to investigate and make sure they weren't a danger. Mujahid had not adapted well to the cold environs of Scotland. He had never been comfortable with magics either, and having a school full of children with limited control over their magics did little to calm his twitchiness. Not a single class went by without an explosion, most of which caused him to pull his knife. Coming from a city torn apart by RPGs, this wasn't unexpected.

When neither Somali made a move to touch the disgusting fabric Dumbledore's smile dimmed.

"It is a portkey," he said. "Come now, it's not that bad. You have to touch it for it to work," he chided, gaining back some of his twinkle.

Nuri shook his head but turned to the other man. **"Mujahid, forget those silver things. We'll figure out what they are later. We have to go to the meeting. Touch the sock."**

Mujahid turned away from the bookcase only to pull a face. **"I will not touch that! That is an affront, who does this old man think he is?"**

The angry tones caught the Headmaster off balance. He took a step back as Mujahid took one forward. The Somali's sneer was impressive. It stretched the scars on the side of his neck grotesquely, looking like corded ropes instead of flesh. It made a fearsome image.

**"Stop****,"** Nuri said. **"He doesn't understand-"**

**"I don't care!"** Mujahid said. **"I am sick of these, these **_**wizards**_**. They say and do things with no thought of the repercussions. They think that with their sticks they are gods, well I'll be glad to show them that they are not!"** He grabbed the butt of his gun, swinging it around only to hit the heel of Nuri's hand.

**"Enough,"** he said. **"W****ho knew you could be so riled up by a bunch of **_**children**_**," **he taunted. **"Big bad Mujahid, done in by pipsqueaks!"**

Mujahid's glare quickly transferred to Nuri. **"Watch it, or I will remind you just who trained **_**this**_** child."**

Nuri smirked and opened his mouth to reply when the Headmaster interrupted.

"Is there a problem?"

Both men turned to Dumbledore who simply smiled at them congenially.

"Why yes, Headmaster. By offering a sock you have committed a grave offense. While I find myself mildly irritated, Mujahid has taken exception and wishes to kill you for the slight." A small smile curled Nuri's lips at the old man's wide eyes. "I have reminded him that it is not an offense in your culture and he should not respond with lethal force. We were discussing this matter when you interrupted."

It took a moment, but the smile that had slid off of the Headmaster's face at the explanation reasserted itself, looking a little strained around the edges. "Not a problem my boy, I can change it quite easily." He pulled out his wand and waved it over a pen which glowed slightly for a moment before fading again. "There we go, now if you please?"

Nuri touched the pen with a finger. He had no interest in experiencing a portkey again. He had used one to get back and forth to Diagon Alley and it had not improved with use. After a moment of silence he looked up at Mujahid who was staring at the pen with distaste. As a Muggle he fared even worse than Nuri did with portkeys. It seemed that the magics in the portkey were prone to yanking him around more since he didn't have any of his own magics to help him along.

**"Mujahid.**** Touch the pen."**

An acid glare was the only response given to the order, but he laid a couple fingers on the pen, ignoring the Headmaster's wide smile completely.

"All right then, off we go. Fizzing whizzbees!"

It was certainly not a form of travel that improved with time. Their bodies banged together, the weapons strapped at their sides digging deeply into their sides. It only took a moment of travel, but a couple good knocks was all that was needed. If it weren't for the nausea quickly welling up in his throat it might have been painful. As it was, Nuri was sure that they were going to have deep bruises the next day. He took some measure of satisfaction that Dumbledore had not been spared. A quick glance at Mujahid told him that it was the only thing saving Dumbledore from a few new holes in his body.

Once he was sure that Mujahid wasn't going to maim the Headmaster, Nuri looked around. They were in a rundown part of town. The houses had obviously once been grand, but had gotten old and were in various states of disrepair. Several were nearly overtaken entirely by vines, looking like they had come straight from a storybook about hidden gardens and naughty children. Others had been darkened with soot and mold. Very few looked like they still had inhabitants.

Dumbledore stepped in front of a nondescript pair of houses and turned to look at the two Somalis. He smiled widely and said, "The Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

There was a rumble as the two nice homes shifted apart, their siding shifting and cracking to make room for molding wood shingles and broken windows. The beams holding up the overhang on the doorstep looked rotted through, the wood bowing precariously. When the Headmaster stepped up onto the stoop, the moldy shingles brushed against the point of his hat. Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked like it belonged on the set of a horror movie, not in the middle of a London suburb no matter how rundown.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said, looking at Mujahid with a thoughtful look on his face. His hand was poised on the door knob, but he hadn't yet opened the door. "I don't think your bodyguard understood what I was saying."

A quick look at Mujahid confirmed the Headmaster's statement. The man was glancing at Numbers 11 and 13, his eyes sliding over Number 12 and Dumbledore entirely.

"Be a good lad and repeat to him what I told you, would you?" The old man waved his wand in a corkscrew in Nuri's direction, smiling too widely for the boy's taste. He seemed to wear the cheer like armor, using it to disarm and confuse people. Nuri longed to wipe the Headmaster's grin off of his face.

Sneering, Nuri turned to Mujahid and said, **"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12 Grimmauld Place."**

Nuri had to admit that the shocked widening of Mujahid's eyes was certainly worth the trouble though.

The Headmaster bundled them out of the cool evening air into a stuffy old house that smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in decades. The wallpaper was peeling off of the walls and piles of dust sat in the corners. The hallway was lined with many worn doors, with a single light coming from an open door at the end of the hall. The sound of clinking and bustling echoed out of the room to meet them at the entryway.

"Oh good!" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together. "It sounds like most of the Order is here. Molly was planning on making something special tonight. I hope she has pumpkin pasties."

Nuri ignored the old man entirely and Mujahid was looking at the dark corners suspiciously, but they both followed him down the hall and entered the kitchen. A long, dark table split the already small room in half. People surrounded the table, chattering to one another while they reached for the plates of food that covered nearly every inch of the surface. A heavy-set red head was bustling around, adding plates to the already full table, fiddling with her apron between loads.

The noise in the room was loud enough that the people occupying it didn't seem to hear the Headmaster clear his throat, but the dark-skinned man sitting closest to the entry way noticed the three of them standing there and elbowed an older, ragged-looking man. One by one the people in the room quieted down, staring at the newest arrivals, until the sudden hush caught the attention of the rest of the people.

Nuri could admit that the three of them made quite a sight. The Headmaster was wearing his usual sort of outfit, a bright yellow robe with Muggle rubber ducks embroidered onto it. Mujahid stood slightly behind them, a fierce look marring his face. He really didn't like wizards. Or magics in general. His unusual hair cut and vivid scars caught the eye of several Order members.

The rest of the room was watching Nuri. He had opted to wear his modified student robes, uninterested in changing directly after classes so that he would make it to the meeting on time. The bare arms caught most of their attention, the patterned scars difficult to ignore. More than a few of them were looking at him with mild distaste.

"Attention everyone!" Dumbledore said, quite unnecessarily in Nuri's opinion. "We have two new guests with us this evening. This is Harry Potter, who refers to go by the name Nuri Nasri." The old man gamely ignored Nuri's glare. "The gentleman with him is his Muggle bodyguard."

The matronly woman clasped her hands below her ample bosoms, stretching the garish floral design. "Oh but Albus, he's just a child. You can't possibly be thinking-"

The elderly man held up a wrinkled hand. "I know my dear. I wish I could shield him from this, but it was a part of our agreement." The Headmaster sighed and Nuri couldn't help the twitch his hand made towards his gun at the affected look. "He is to be kept up on all information pertaining to a war which means his attendance at this meeting is necessary."

The woman wrung her hands together, a protest just on the edge of her lips. The fact that she remained silent was the only thing that kept Nuri's hand from his gun.

A younger woman with bright blue hair started to raise her hand, but stopped herself partway through, dropping it down to her side before speaking. "But Headmaster, what about the meeting? We can't have a random Muggle…" she trailed off as she caught a look at Nuri's expression.

"It is quite all right, my dear. He doesn't speak English and I have been assured that he will make himself as inconspicuous as possible while we hold the meeting." Dumbledore pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat himself down in it before gesturing to the chair next to him. Nuri refrained from growling and cutting off the offending hand, choosing simply to sit in the hopes that the night would be over with more quickly. Mujahid settled himself against the wall behind the chair, looking bored.

A fist slammed down on the other end of the table, causing the glasses to rattle and half of the Order to jump. Nuri's hand was on the butt of the Firestar he kept strapped to his side before the man even spoke.

"Bullshit. Doesn't speak English huh? Well how are we supposed to be sure about that? Did he tell you that himself? You're a fool if you trust that," the man barked.

The man was grizzled, greying with straw-like hair. He looked like he had gone through a landmine and gotten the worst end of the shrapnel. Bits and pieces of his face and body were missing, body parts Nuri hadn't known you could lose and still survive, even with a good Healer. The spinning glass eye was a feat in itself. He would definitely have to get his Healers trained in their wizarding arts.

Dumbledore held a calming hand up but Nuri interrupted him. "No, I told him. Do you think you could trust me?" Most of the Order seemed to take the question as rhetorical, but the man's eye spun around even faster, seeming to weigh his trustworthiness. If he was smart he would come up lacking.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to glare at the wrinkled appendage. "Of course we can, Ha- Nuri," the old man said, directing the words more to the rest of the group than to the student himself. "Of course we can, now eat up, you're a growing boy. We will start the meeting shortly after dinner." The elderly man turned away, grabbing a roll and starting up a lively conversation about peaches with the only other black man in the room.

Nuri had no intention of eating much. The sheer number of people staring at him made him feel the need to either flee or attack, not a conducive state for digestion. He added a bread roll and a couple vegetables to the plate that materialized in front of him, opting to chew a bit on the bread while watching the people around him. He would gladly use the time given to him to identify and categorize the people he would be working with.

There were a large number of redheads in the room, making up almost half of the people present. Nuri sat next to one of them, a particularly tall and lean man with a single fanged earring dangling from his ear. He looked surprisingly nervous, edging away from Nuri but still trying to keep him in his sights despite being involved in a conversation with the man on the other side of him. That man was shorter and stockier, covered in burn scars, but the matching hair gave him away as a family member, likely brother. The sheen to the skin hinted at old burns and spoke of him working with flames on a regular basis. Nuri was very familiar with those kinds of scars. He was unsure about the first man, but the second one would likely be a formidable opponent and not worth engaging on a battlefield if he could avoid it.

A matched pair of redheads was just on the other side of them, their heads nearly touching as they whispered back and forth. Unlike the rest of the eyes in the room, theirs never wandered, their attention never fading from the other twin. They looked very intense, but held themselves in a way that spoke of inexperience. Useless.

Nuri had to say that he was a little surprised to see his Potions Professor among the Order, although he supposed it made some sense since the man had been assigned to tutor him. The dour man spoke to no one, only pausing in his food occasionally to glare at the twins next to him.

A bit past Snape was McGonagall, not a surprise, and in between the two of them seemed to be a dirty lump of robes. The robes appeared to be cowering away from Snape, shaking enough to dislodge some dirt from the fabric. Nuri quickly dismissed the man as not a threat.

Sitting directly across from his Transfiguration Professor was the old, grizzled man who had protested. The man wasn't eating or speaking to anyone, instead focusing on Mujahid, his normal eye running up and down, stopping frequently to look at the guns while the other eye whizzed around in its socket. Every time someone made a sudden move near him he jumped, occasionally badly enough to upset his plate. The man looked like he would be dangerous in battle, but was hardly a threat outside of it.

The older, matronly redhead sat a seat away from the grizzled man, an empty seat on either side of her. She looked lost, like an island in the middle of a vast sea. She seemed to come into focus before fading back out again at random intervals, staring at random china or pictures. Every once in a while her eyes would land on Nuri, a worried light entering them as she twisted a napkin between her fingers. Nuri assumed she was the mother of the other four, but wondered where the father was.

The blue haired girl sat one seat away from her, cheerfully conversing with anyone who would engage her. Her brightness seemed to pale the older woman out in comparison.

Nuri's eyes skipped over her and landed on another set of eyes staring straight at him. He recognized his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, a bit of a surprise. He wouldn't have expected the man to be mired in the Headmaster's machinations. The man looked as he usually did, pale, gaunt with deep black hair made his skin look even more washed out. His hair was wild, in desperate need of a shower and a brush, and perhaps a good amount of the oils Nuri's maid liked to use on his hair.

Nuri was unsure about this Professor. While Professors Snape and McGonagall frequently addressed him both in and out of class, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor almost seemed like he was waiting, watching Nuri eerily through classes and meal times. He had been with the group that had gone to Somalia, and Nuri hadn't forgotten the exuberance the man had first displayed upon finding him. But he had not approached him since that day, so Nuri hadn't paid him much attention. If the man was in Dumbledore's little group, however, he bore watching.

Their eyes met for only a moment before the man turned to address a ragged man. He smiled gaily and seemed to chat amicably with those around him, but Nuri had seen the closely banked insanity his Professor's eyes held. How very interesting.

"So, Nuri was it?" the blue haired girl asked, pulling Nuri's attention away from the interesting man. "I have heard so much about you! It's so good to finally meet you. We've been looking for you for years you know. We even looked in Australia and Asia!" her words were coming out fast and clipped, reminding Nuri of the sound of machine gun fire. "Your clothes are so different! I love them! Does Headmaster Dumbledore allow you to wear them to classes? Hey, what are those things you and your friend have strapped over your shoulder? What do they do?"

Nuri felt Dumbledore stiffen next to him, but he was disappointed when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and didn't see any change to the Headmaster's mien. He smirked and reached for his Firestar, hearing Mujahid shift behind him.

"You mean this thing?" he asked, placing the gun next to his plate with an audible thunk. He felt more than heard Dumbledore's sigh.

"Mr. Potter!" a woman squawked at the other end of the table. Nuri glanced passed the quartet of redheads looking at him with curiosity and saw that it was his transfiguration Professor who spoke. He ignored her entirely, smiling slightly at the dark red flush that was crawling up Snape's neck. The redness just reached the Potions Master's jaw when he looked away again to the young woman.

"This little thing?" he asked, smiling genuinely. Sadly nobody flinched, something his aabbe's men had long since learned to do. "It is a gun, Ms…"

"Oh! In my excitement I have forgotten to introduce myself! My name's Tonks, auror extraordinaire!" She smiled, spreading her arms wide. Her hair seemed to brighten a shade, but Nuri was convinced he imagined it. "A gun huh? Is it something muggle? What does it _do?_"

"Tonks!" McGonagall's voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs that had started up around the room. The redhead next to Nuri was practically falling into his brother's lap, edging even further away when he pulled the gun out.

A pop echoed through the room, startling Nuri.

"Filthy mudbloods soiling Mistress'-"

Nuri rose in one swift motion, gripping the butt of the Firestar firmly, flicking off the safety with his thumb as he swung the gun up, muzzle pointing towards the end of the table. He quickly sighted the creature that had made the noise and pulled the trigger.

A deafening bang echoed through the small room, startling everyone in it. The redhead sitting next to Nuri fell out of his chair entirely, scrambling away from him. The filthy man sitting between McGonagall and Snape tipped backward until he landed on the floor with another loud crash, startling the Professors. The rest of the room stood at the crack of gunfire, more than a couple of them drawing their wands. Food and wine dripped off the table, upset by the sudden movement of its occupants, but nobody seemed to notice. The old man at the end of the table was standing with his wand pointing directly at Nuri and his eye whizzing madly. As for the creature…

Well, Nuri had been trained by some of the best in Somalia. Always shoot center mass, that way you are less likely to miss. But he was used to shooting at the center mass of people. People were much taller than whatever animal had made that noise, meaning that the bullet had entered the side of the creature's head and blown out the back, spraying the pots and pans behind it with blood and gore.

There was a moment of silence before the screaming began.

"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice echoed in the small kitchen, almost as loudly as the gunshot had.

Nuri reholstered the gun and sat back down, smoothing out his shirtsleeves before looking up at Tonks and asking, "Does that answer your question?"

The Headmaster leveled a dark glare at him. "Mr. Nasri, while you have been given a lot of leeway thus far, may I remind you that you need to behave civilly around other people. That means _not_ discharging your firearms outside of the battlefield!"

Nuri arched an eyebrow and turned to respond only to be interrupted.

"Oh lay off it Albus," Nuri's defense Professor said. He had a broad smile on his face and a bloodthirsty glint in his eye. "I have been meaning to get rid of that thing for _years_. And now the house's magic can't even mount his head on the wall!" The wide smile cracked his face, the muscles looking unused to the motion.

"Sirius!" the greying man beside him turned towards him. "What do-"

"Stay out of this Remus," Black interrupted. Nuri leaned back in his chair, amused despite himself.

"Now see here-" McGonagall's strident voice carried down the table easily.

Professor Black's head turned sharply, the lanky strands of his hair swinging into his face. "Enough. This is my house. That was my house elf. None of you have any say in this matter."

His voice echoed with finality and silence followed. Looking down the table showed mixed reactions. Some of the Order members seemed horrified, stuck on the gruesome image of house elf brains splattering against the wall. Others looked angry and, in the old woman's case, indignant. But nobody had a good response to the Professor's remark. Nuri looked back to glance at Mujahid and saw the amused smirk on his face. And really Nuri had to agree, what were these people so bothered about? It sounded like these house elves didn't have much standing in their society anyway.

After a few heartbeats the Headmaster intervened. "Since everyone seems to have gone off of their appetite," he gave his wand a sharp jab, banishing Kreacher's bloody remains before speaking. "I suppose we should get on with our meeting." A softer wand wave lifted the plates of food off of the table and onto the sideboards, leaving the surface empty. "Alastor you can sit down now."

The old man in question grumbled, giving Nuri a fierce glare before sitting back down. He seemed to be ready to jump up at any moment and kept both eyes solidly on Nuri. For his part, Nuri just ignored him.

"Albus, you can't possibly allow him to keep those - those _things_!" McGonagall said, gesturing at Nuri with a wide hand. Molly and the now decidedly green haired girl were nodding, avoiding looking at Nuri entirely. Nuri stared at the young woman. He knew she had blue hair just a moment ago.

"I don't-" Black began to say when the Headmaster held up his hand and cut him off.

"Unfortunately I must. While cannot say I agree with their weapons or their methods, one of the conditions of their assistance involved the right to bear their arms as they saw fit." Dumbledore sighed and Nuri smirked. It looked like the man was beginning to regret asking them to come at all. Good. He should regret asking them to come to this frigid, backwater country.

"Besides," Black said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. "You can hardly say they are any more dangerous as a well placed Reducto. Let the kid keep his gun. He'll be better able to protect himself!"

"That's enough, Sirius," the Headmaster said, interrupting the impending argument. He ignored the growing protestations completely, instead turning to Nuri. "While some introductions have been made, let me introduce you to the rest of our Order. Next to you is Bill, our Curse Breaker. Next to him is Charlie, our resident dragon expert, followed by Fred and George, our troublemakers. They are all Weasleys and Molly's sons." Nuri nodded to each of them. Fred and George seemed curious, but Bill looked resigned, nodding to him from his reclaimed chair.

"You already know Professors Snape and McGonagall, and between them is Mundungus Fletcher." The grotty thing looked more like the pictures Nuri had seen of a mole than a human. "Alastor Moody is one of the finest Aurors to come out of the Ministry in decades and we are glad to have him on our side." The gruff man nodded to Dumbledore but never took his eyes off of Nuri.

"You've met Molly. She has two other children besides these four. One works at the Ministry and the other one goes to school with you. I believe Ronald is in your year, a Gryffindor." Molly smiled proudly, the emotion seeming to crack the edges of her face.

The Headmaster gestured to the young woman sitting next to the Weasley matron whose hair was now pink. "The woman who already introduced herself to you is Nymphadora Tonks, although she prefers to go by Tonks," he said quickly at her glare. "She is a promising new Auror, trained by Alastor, and our best covert operator." She smiled widely and waved, her hair flickering through several colors and her face shifting shape and size. "She is a metamorphmagus." The word meant nothing to Nuri, but the shapeshifting looked useful.

"You have already met Professor Black and next to him is Remus Lupin," he said, gesturing to the two men sitting across from Nuri. "They were best friends with your parents when they were at Hogwarts."

Nuri leveled a piercing glare at Dumbledore. Before he could say anything the old man seemed to sense his glare and move on.

"And the man on my right is Kingsley Shacklebolt. He also works with the Aurors and is an excellent duellist."

Kingsley nodded to Nuri who looked back at him thoughtfully. The man's skin was dark, nearly as dark as the majority of the people from home. It made Nuri feel oddly at ease around him which was only amplified by his calm demeanor.

Dumbledore turned to address the rest of the table. "Let us get started. I'm sure we are all quite ready to head home." Several nods were seen around the table, particularly from those that still looked a bit green. "Is there any news from the Aurors about Voldemort's movements?" he asked, turning to Kingsley.

The bald man shook his head. "We have been virtually hobbled by the Minister. He's using us to defend what he calls 'key positions' while refusing to consider any offensive action. He has gone completely over the Head Auror's on this one, micromanaging our actions through use of 'Administrative Directives'." The disgust on his face was vivid, and mirrored by Tonks.

"He has me guarding a warding tower of all things," she said, shaking her head until her hair turned an angry red. "Me! One of their best undercover operatives, and I'm guarding a bloody warding tower! In the middle of a field!" Her nose sharpened to a near point, its slope looking like a razor's edge.

A snort could be heard from down the table followed by a loud thunk as Moody's fist hit the table. "That overblown, pompous windbag. He's going to destroy the Aurors from the inside out at this rate. I don't like the Head Auror, but anybody is better at running it than that blasted Fudge."

"All right everybody, let's calm down. This is hardly productive," the Headmaster said, his voice smooth. "I so agree; Fudge is a problem. But that is not something we can do anything about at the moment. Thank you for your report Kingsley. Severus? Do you have information to enlighten us about Voldemort's movements?"

The dour man sat forward in his chair, resting both of his arms on the table. He stared at his clasped hands as he began to report. "There have been a number of small attacks on muggle areas. I am unsure if the wizards just don't know about them or if they're being hushed up by the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy has been spending a lot of time conversing with the Dark Lord. I believe they are working to infiltrate the centers of media, as I have seen a few members of the press coming and going from the meetings."

The Headmaster pulled at his beard, looking towards the ceiling in thought. "That is not good. I will have to see if I have any contacts in the Daily Prophet or any of the international papers. What about his Headquarters?"

"I have not been able to ascertain their location. I am unsure if he is changing them every time, or simply layering glamours upon the walls for the meetings. It is impossible to tell."

"Well then what use are you to us Snivellous?" a voice spoke up, dripping with disgust. Nuri turned his head curiously at the sound of the voice and saw the unbalanced Professor with a look of pure poison on his face. "I'll bet you know exactly where they are, but refuse to betray your Master-"

"Sirius, enough," Dumbledore cut in sharply. Turning back to the Professor he continued. "That is not good news. I was hoping we would be able to pinpoint a location so we could set up surveillance. But oh well. Do keep your eyes open for any hints though, won't you?"

Snape's sneer was his only response.

"Very well. Now onto-" the Headmaster continued before being interrupted.

"I have a question."

Everyone seemed to startle at the quiet interruption. A few of the Order members looked at Nuri in confusion, but Black just smiled widely and sat back in his chair. For his part Dumbledore only looked startled for a moment, before adopting a congenial smile and responding.

"Why yes, Mr. Nasri. Is there anything we can clarify for you?"

Nuri just gave the man a bland look before deciding to continue. "I would like to hear more about these... Death Feeders?"

A snort came from across the table and Dumbledore's smile widened minutely. Everyone else looked a little sick.

"I think you mean Death Eaters."

Nuri waved his hand dismissively. "Yes yes. Voldemort's people." He glanced around when everyone flinched at the man's name. "Voldemort." One of the Weasley boys tipped a cup over. "Really? You are that afraid of the Warlord that you jump at his name?"

The greying man across the table, Remus, if Nuri remembered correctly, leaned towards him. He looked exhausted. "He's not a Warlord, he's a mad man who delights in killing innocent people for no reason."

Nuri raised an eyebrow "So you say. I would like more information on his subjects. Do we know any by name? What kind of magics do they wield? What methods of attack do they like? What sort of Healers have they?"

He could see the Transfiguration Professor puff herself up out of the corner of his eye.

"Now see here, I don't think that is pertinent to this meeting. And you are here as a visitor, young man. Albus has a meeting to run and-"

"The lad's got a point," Alastor interrupted with a solid thunk of wood-on-wood underneath the table. His good eye had never left Nuri, but his other eye was back to spinning around the room. "He's going to be out there fighting them with us. He needs to know what he's dealing with."

McGonagall turned an ugly shade of red, some of her hair coming out of her bun as she shook her head. "I hardly believe-"

"Alastor is right," the Weasley boy with the burn scars added. His voice was low, but confident. It was obvious that he didn't speak much, but when he did people tended to listen. "You can hardly expect someone to walk into a war without any knowledge of its players."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said, stepping into the argument before it could get out of hand. "We unfortunately do not have time for such an intensive topic this evening. Mr. Nasri, if it suits you either I can meet with you, or perhaps we can set up a meeting specifically so we can get you up to speed with what information we have. Will that be acceptable?"

Nuri took a moment to consider before responding. "Since you do not seem to have the information at hand, I suppose that will do. However, I would like to know how this dead Warlord of yours was birthed again."

The Headmaster coughed. "I think you mean resurrected."

When he didn't continue Nuri spoke, "Fine. Resurrected. And how did this happen?"

The room was quiet for a few heartbeats, the majority of the Order turned to look at the Headmaster with curiosity while the Weasley mother seemed aggrieved.

"Well," Dumbledore started, tugging at the end of his beard. "We are not completely sure. I believe it involved some of the Darkest Arts, perhaps a ritual, requiring a sacrifice. Unfortunately that sacrifice was the youngest Weasley, a girl." At that statement the Weasley matron began to wail, tears falling down her face uncontrollably. Her sons tried to calm her down, but nothing helped and she had to be escorted from the room. "As you can tell, we don't often like to talk about it. If we can continue on-"

Nuri's eyes narrowed. Dumbledore had been deliberately vague, and it was obvious that he had been for some time since none of his subjects seemed to know the answer to the question either. It looked like he wasn't the only one suspicious either, with the looks Snape and the retired Auror were giving the old man.

It was obvious that the man knew the answer, or at least had a strong suspicion as to what the aspiring Warlord had done. And he wasn't going to be able to avoid the question forever. Nuri was certain about that.

"Has anybody heard-"

"-about the death of that-"

"-snivelling-"

"-muckraking-"

"-harridan-"

"-of a reporter?" the twins finished in unison, wearing matching blood-thirsty smiles.

The Headmaster frowned and turned to the twins. "I had not heard of such a thing. What happened?"

"Oh-"

"-well. It seems that-"

"-that nosy little-"

"-yellow bellied-"

"-bitch-"

"Boys!" Dumbledore interrupted.

"Sorry!" they said in unison.

"Anyway," the twin closest to Charlie continued. "Apparently Rita Skeeter-"

"-met a sticky end last night."

"According to-"

"-the word on the street-"

"-she was found- "

"-down some dirty alley-"

"-had taken a nasty Reducto-"

"-bled out."

"Supposedly the Daily Prophet is keeping it-"

"-hush hush-"

"-not wanting to-"

"-scare off their-"

"-other reporters."

"That's enough boys," the Headmaster said.

Nuri was glad that Dumbledore finally cut them off. The ping ponging conversation just made his trigger finger itch. He had a feeling the Order members would be a lot less understanding about Weasley brains on the pots and pans then they had been about the house elf. As it was the shapeshifter still looked to have a green tinge to her face every time she looked down to that end of the table. As a matter of fact, they would probably be just as understanding as they were going to be about that reporter. He glanced across the table to see Professor Black's amused face, staring straight at him.

"Does anyone know why Rita Skeeter was targeted?" the old man asked.

The twins shook their heads and when Dumbledore looked around the table, several people shook their heads while others shrugged. Nuri leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and not saying a word.

"Well," Remus began, a hesitant look on his face. "While it is certainly possible, I doubt it was the Death Eaters."

The Headmaster looked towards him. "Why is that, Remus?"

"Well," he said, taking his glass between his hands, playing with the edge of it and refusing to look up at the room. "It doesn't really fit. First off, in their other attacks the Death Eaters have tended to go for something more, for lack of a better word, flashy. A high profile murder like this would have been done in a very visible manner. From what the twins said, Rita Skeeter was found in an alley and her death certainly hasn't been well publicized." He set the glass down, running his finger along the rim.

Dumbledore ran his finger through the end of his beard. "That's very true and a good point. What was your other reason?" he asked.

Remus' lips pulled back in a grimace and he looked up at Nuri, pausing for a moment before sliding his eyes over to the leader of their group. "She hasn't done anything to anger the Dark side. While she has written many inflammatory articles recently, none of them were about You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters."

"We never-"

"-touch that rag-"

"-of a paper."

"Who has she been-"

"-slandering-"

"-lately?" the twin closest to Snape finished, both of them looking like curious bookends, alternating between staring at the Headmaster and Remus.

Surprisingly, Kingsley was the one who answered. "Two French politicians I can never remember the name of, the Head Auror, the heir to the Burgess family and…" he paused, looking across the table. "Mr. Nasri."

A silence fell over the room as everyone turned to stare at Nuri. He sat back in his chair, leaning on the back two legs in a way that made Mujahid growl, and stared back.

"Har- Mr. Nasri," Dumbledore said, looking Nuri straight in the eye. "Did you kill Rita Skeeter?"

Nuri set the chair back down on all four legs with an audible clunk that caused Bill to jump. He looked Dumbledore in the eyes and said, "Yes."

The old man just sighed, dropping his head into his hands as the members of the Order started shouting.

"You can't just-"

"What sort of-"

"-bitch deserved it!""

"I don't know-"

"-killing people!"

"Silence!" the Headmaster's voice cut through the din, startling more than a couple people but having the intended effect.

Nuri just raised an eyebrow, looking around at the outraged faces around the table. Mujahid shifted behind him in response to the agitated room. He knew they hadn't responded well to him killing the house elf, but what was their problem?

Dumbledore drew himself up in his chair, turning towards Nuri with a stern expression. "You can't just go around killing people, Mr. Nasri. While-"

"Is that not what you brought me here to do, Headmaster?" Nuri cut off whatever the old man was going to say. "To kill people?" While he didn't understand what their problem was, he did find their gobsmacked expressions amusing, although Snape appeared more resigned than surprised. Even Black appeared to be shocked.

"I – no – you just-" Dumbledore paused to pull off his glasses and rub his eyes. A long sigh escaped between his whiskers before he put his spectacles back on and leveled a stare at Nuri. "You cannot be going around killing people who are not a part of Voldemort's faction."

"Why?" Nuri asked, frowning.

"Because, you little horror, the public will not stand for it." Snape's voice cut through the room, causing the twins to shudder. Nuri turned, looking past the Weasley boys at the Professor. "While you may have been able to get away with it down in whatever godforsaken, heathen country you were raised in, I assure you that the Ministry for Magic is far better organized and less inclined to humor murderers."

The sneer on the man's face was impressive. The other members of the room were looking back and forth between Nuri and Snape, probably waiting to see if Nuri was going to shoot the Potions Master. But Nuri had been working with the acerbic man for a couple of weeks, and found himself more amused than irritated. Instead he simply smirked, causing more than a couple of the Weasley boys to look a bit faint.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, bringing the room's attention back to him. "I think what Severus is trying to say is that more problems will be caused than solved if you continue to… react to people as you did before." He took his glasses off again, cleaning them on his bright yellow robe. He placed them back on his face and looked directly at Nuri. "Perhaps next time you should come to me first, and together we can see if we can figure out a mutually agreeable solution to the problem."

Nuri considered the Headmaster for a moment before responding. "That sounds like a potential solution, Headmaster. Thank you."

The old man nodded, obviously relieved. "Very good. Now Bill, have you gotten a chance to speak with the goblins about-"

Nuri leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and balancing on two legs while letting the conversations wash over him. He could feel the weight of several suspicious stares around the room. He smiled.

* * *

"Harry!"

The meeting was finally over. People had been surprisingly unwilling to speak much after the revelation of the reporter's death. Nuri wasn't sure why they were having such difficulties. The woman was a nuisance, a liability and, most importantly, she had insulted his aabbe. People at home had gotten much worse for lesser offenses. He had only killed her, and rather quickly at that.

Once the meeting had been called by a frustrated Headmaster, the people had scattered quickly, making their excuses before practically running out of the room. Before long the only people left besides Nuri and Mujahid were a suspicious retired auror, Remus, Professor Black and the Headmaster.

"Ha- Nuri!"

The Headmaster had told Nuri to meet him out on the stoop. Apparently he had to speak with Alastor Moody before leaving, likely to appease the man given the acid glares he had been receiving from him all night. Nuri was all too happy to comply, signaling to Mujahid before getting as far away from the kitchen as he could.

"Nuri, wait!"

He was almost at the door when the call stopped him. Mujahid had his gun pointed down the hall at the Professor before Nuri could fully turn around. The man had slid to a stop, running into a suspiciously shaped umbrella stand before holding up his hands.

"Sorry! Sorry, I wasn't trying to hurt anybody. I just wanted to talk to you. We-" he said, gesturing vaguely to the greying man beside him who was frozen, staring at Mujahid, "wanted to talk to you."

Hearing the raised voices coming from the kitchen Nuri sighed. He had a feeling that the Headmaster was going to be a while. "Very well."

The smile on Professor Black's face could have light up half of Mogadishu. He clapped his hands together and started to move toward one of the hallway doors only to freeze when the clink of a cartridge loading into Mujahid's automatic rifle stopped him. The gun was certainly intimidating.

"Uh-" he started, his eyes flicking between Nuri and Mujahid. "Do you think you could tell him to stop pointing that thing at me?"

Nuri sighed before placing a hand on Mujahid's shoulder. **"Enough. They could hardly harm a field mouse." **He couldn't see the man's face, but Nuri bet that he had an impressive sneer given the speed at which the two wizards paled out.

"**They're wizards, wh****o would miss them?"** The snarl was apparently audible despite the language gap, given that the defense Professor managed to trip back over the umbrella stand and land flat on his back with a loud crash.

Looking down at the other man, Nuri felt frustrated enough rolled his eyes. **"While I might agree with you, I really don't want to deal with another argument on the subject with the other wizards. Put the gun away."**

Mujahid growled, causing both wizards to jump, but he put the rifle away.

"Very well then, shall we gentlemen?" Nuri asked, stepping around Mujahid to look at the two wizards.

Remus helped Black up, untangling his legs from the loosed umbrellas, before stepping through the nearest door. The Professor followed him, pulling out his wand and sending bursts of light to the different candles around the room. By the time Nuri and Mujahid stepped through the door, the room was completely lit, showing the dust covered furniture, one of which had a suspicious dark stain smearing down one cushion.

The wizards avoided that sofa entirely, choosing to sit next to the fireplace where Remus stoked a fire, the orange flames giving a cozy feel to the dark and dilapidated room.

Nuri called a small, cool flame to scorch the dust particles off of a small seat opposite the wizards, allowing it to sweep over the entire chair before banishing it and taking a seat. Mujahid stepped in behind him, the soft click telling Nuri that if anything questionable happened, there wouldn't be much left of the two wizards, or probably the sofa they sat on.

They sat in silence for several minutes, the two wizards staring at him but seemingly unable to think of anything to say. Nuri entertained himself by playing with the flames just outside of their line of sight. He finally shaped an emu out of the fire when one of them spoke.

"I knew your parents," Professor Black blurted out, shifting on the cushion restlessly.

Nuri looked at the man blandly, making him squirm some more. "I would like to point out that that statement is a geographic impossibility." His cultured tones rounded out the words, entangling them with one another in his irritation.

The defense Professor, for his part, cocked his head to the side in his confusion in a manner more often associated with canines. Nuri almost expected to see him lift up his leg and scratch at his ear.

"I think what Sirius meant to say what that we were friends with James and Lily, your parents by birth," the other man said. Remus, if Nuri remembered correctly.

Several moments passed as Nuri simply looked at Remus, ignoring Black's perpetual shifting. The man was… odd. When Remus started becoming visibly uncomfortable, Nuri responded. "I knew what he meant. Since I got here people have wanted to speak with me non-stop about the people who birthed me. They completely ignore the man who was kind enough to take me in and raise me. I do not appreciate it."

No longer dog-like, Professor Black was impersonating a fish from his place on the couch, no longer shifting back and forth on the cushion, something Nuri was certain Mujahid appreciated. Remus seemed to have the cooler head of the two of them, responding when Black appeared unable.

"We didn't mean to offend," he said, one hand on Professor Black's knee to keep the man in his seat and the other forward in a placating manner. "It's just that we knew you as a baby and wish to get to know you again."

Nuri refrained from tilting his head, wanting to get a better look at Remus and ignoring Black completely. The man's hair had the look of someone gone grey too early, the strands brittle and thin. His face looked worn, rough and oddly tanned for someone who lived in a country besieged by rain. His clothes looked equally worn, the threadbare cloth unkempt and obviously ignored. Something tickled the edge of Nuri's senses about the man, and he wanted to know what.

"You smell… feral," he said simply, watching as both men stiffened, their shoulders tensing in an unmistakable way. "Yes, that is the word. Feral. Like sweat of a lion, or a gazelle's fear. And the forest. You smell like pine sap and elm wood."

Remus' hand had pulled away from Black's knee. Nuri's eyes tracked the movement for a moment before looking back in the man's deeply lined face. "But you are… hurt. Injured, like a beaten and caged dog."

Remus started to rise, only to freeze at the sound of Mujahid shifting his rifle. He stared at the dark man standing over Nuri with wide, frightened eyes, a sheen of gold flickering over the deep brown iris. Several tense moments passed in silence before Nuri broke it.

"Why?"

The man collapsed ungracefully back into the sofa, his head dropping into his hands as he looked the perfect picture of despondency. Professor Black had completely forgotten his earlier shock and was rubbing his friend along his back, leaning forward in a move of solidarity that Nuri rarely saw at home.

He waited patiently for the man to regroup from whatever he was suffering before growing bored. He cleared his throat which seemed to startle the men, but they were finally looking up at him again.

Remus opened and closed his mouth several times before clearing his throat and finally speaking. "I am surprised you noticed, honestly. Most people don't, although around here most people know about it. I guess I thought that either someone else had told you or I guess I was hoping you just wouldn't ask or wouldn't find out, or maybe that it would come up but wouldn't matter-"

"Excuse me," Nuri interrupted. "But you are rambling. What is it you were hoping I would not find out about?"

The worn out man seemed to collapse in on himself. "I am a werewolf."

Nuri paused, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before nodding. "I thought werewolves only fiction. I suppose that makes sense though. If magics exist, then why not magical creatures?" he asked, half musing to himself. He looked back at the two men sitting gobsmacked in the other sofa. "Do vampires exist as well? I always wanted to meet the Queen of the Damned."

"Uh, yea," the defense Professor responded, a look of utter confusion on his face. "They do. What's the Queen of the Damned?"

Nuri glanced at him. "A very good book," he said before switching his attention to the other man. "I thought werewolves were supposed to be strong? You just seem, weak. What have you done to your wolf?"

Remus' face paled out while his neck flushed a bright red. "D-done with my wolf? I don't think you understand," he shook his head, the greying hairs flying into his face. "The wolf must be controlled, he must be subdued. He just wants to kill, and maim and rip things to pieces." His voice was high-pitched and wobbling, increasing in volume. "You don't understand, you've never seen him. He's uncontrollable." He looked at Nuri pleadingly, his face worried. His eyes, however, looked like they were screaming.

The defense Professor had leaned away from his friend, staring at his hysterics with wide eyes.

Nuri just looked at the werewolf, contemplating. The werewolf was powerful, Nuri could sense it. It felt like flickers of flame under kindling, just waiting to be sparked to life.

"So?" Nuri's simple question seemed to startle the rambling man into silence.

Remus seemed unable to respond to Nuri, confusion suffusing his features. He looked to Black for help who simply shrugged and responded for him.

"He's scared of what Moony can do, so figures that if he stomps on him enough, he'll be able to control him. It doesn't help that everybody sees werewolves as dark creatures," Professor Black sneered, glaring at nothing in particular. "We are raised to hate them and thus, Moony hates himself."

Remus looked at Black, betrayal replacing his confusion. An argument started between them, startling Mujahid behind him but allowing Nuri to think.

Assuming the books he read had little in the way of fact, he knew next to nothing about werewolves or any of the magical creatures that could exist in the British Wizarding world. He hadn't heard of such things in Somalia, but their community was very insulated and focused on their own survival. They didn't have the time to go searching out others.

In almost all the fairytales he had read, werewolves were strong, fast, blood-thirsty creatures that uncontrollably turned at the moon and could turn others by biting them. Other details varied from tale to tale. In some of them the wolf could shift at other times by will, in others they were allergic to silver and were very sick in their human form. In some stories they were loners, while in others they had a pack instinct and hierarchy. Nuri would definitely have to do some research to separate fact from fiction.

But, if werewolves were real, then they would be very useful soldiers. Their strength and magics alone would put them in the elite ranks of any militia. Nuri would be a fool to ignore them.

He looked up at the arguing pair, their fight reduced to hair-pulling and small jinxes. He could feel Mujahid stiffen behind him with every new colored spell flicking across the room and splattering against the walls.

But this man was weak. He ignored his wolf, suppressed him even. While Nuri knew next to nothing about werewolves, it obviously wasn't good for the man. Assuming the men had gone to school together with his parents, Remus had aged far faster than the Professor, looking nearly twice his age instead of his contemporary. He was poisoning himself. Normally Nuri wouldn't particularly care, but this man had a lot of potential and seemed to be interested in being involved in Nuri's life. This gave him leverage. If only he could figure out a way to pull the wolf out and teach Remus that it was not necessarily a bad thing.

The two men finally settled down back into their sofa, Remus looking smug while Professor Black looked putout. Given the pinkness of his hair, Nuri was inclined to think he lost their little squabble.

"Is there anything else you wanted?" he asked. He had a lot to think about and some books to find. "I need to find the Headmaster and get back to Hogwarts." He began to rise, his mind already drifting to the few shelves he had had the opportunity to peruse in the library, when his defense Professor shouted.

"Wait!"

Nuri turned back to the pink haired man, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

The man seemed to falter for a moment before springing back. "When can we speak with you again? It's been so long and it's impossible to talk in class…" he trailed off after catching a glimpse of Nuri's amused face.

"Truly," he said. "I am unsure. I doubt I will be attending many of these meetings. It would be just a bit suspicious if I continue to disappear from the occupied parts of the castle. Otherwise I am either in class or training-"

"Training!" the man blurted out, interrupting Nuri. His skin took on a slight pink shade, matching his hair. "I am good at dueling, best in my class. I am your Defense Against the Dark Arts Profess after all," he puffed up. "And Remus isn't a slouch either. We could help teach you to fight with magic. That is, if the Headmaster hasn't already - I don't think I saw anyone - I mean if someone isn't already teaching you…" he trailed off, looking unsure of himself.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh Nuri considered the two hopeful men across from him. They wanted to spend time with him training. He was sure their idea of training different from his own, but if he could manage to fight the werewolf…

"As it so happens, the Headmaster has not assigned somebody to teach me how to fight," he said, turning to face them fully. "I have been using the mornings to train with Mujahid. If you two would be interested in joining us, I will meet you in the entrance hall shortly after dawn in a week's time."

Professor Black looked petulant at the mention of the hour, but he nodded all the same, drawing a hesitant nod from Remus.

A dark smile slid across Nuri's face. Perfect.

* * *

**A/N:** I don't know if the foot/shoe/sock thing would be offensive in Somalia, honestly. I do know it is widespread in Arab culture. Given the cross over due to the large population of Muslims in Somalia, I made a blanket assumption and hope it doesn't offend.

_PLEASE REVIEW!_


	26. Fiendfyre

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU, eventual slash HPDM, **dark!Harry**.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would be traveling, not working.

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long, but I hate editing my own stuff. Really I do. Add to it a car crash (not totaled, no injuries) and my grandfather's stroke (he is also doing well, thank god), I officially hate 2012 as well.

In short, sorry it took so long to get a chapter that was already written out. Is there anybody in my ever-patient audience that has experience being a beta and is interested in helping me out? Cheers!

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

****Heir to a Warlord**HP**Heir to a Warlord****

**End of October 1996**

The students were always excited during the first month of the school year. For the first years it was a new place; they got to see new things and meet new people, all while finally being able to learn magic. For the seventh years it was the beginning of the end; the last big year before being thrust out upon the world. For all of the years in between, they were finally away from their parents and with their friends again.

At the start of the second month the excitement began to peter out as the drudge of school set in and their homework piled up, although the same could not be said for the Ravenclaws. But by the end of October every student was beginning to fatigue under the work of the New Year, coming to breakfast later and later as sleeping in became a larger priority than sustenance.

By the time the owls came in for the morning mail one late October morning, only about two-thirds of the school was in attendance. Most of them were half-asleep or frantically writing the assignments they had forgotten were due that day. Only the few students sitting closely to Nuri that morning and perhaps a couple teachers noticed when an owl delivered a bright red envelope.

Nuri looked at the note curiously, the parchment starting to shake and smoke in his hands as the other students leaned away from the impending explosion. The paper finally exploded into a black shower, bits of paper landing all over the table. A black face rose out of the confetti causing one first year to shriek and drawing the attention of the other tables.

"Haaarrryy Pottteerrrr…"

The sibilant voice came from the paper-mache mouth and every eye in the Great Hall was on the surprised Somali.

"I have heard many things about you, Harry Potter. Abandoned by the wizarding world. Left with _Muggles_," the face sneered, the paper crinkling under the movement. "Kept from your birthright. But from what I have learned, you learned magic anyway, didn't you child? And you thrived. Bravo."

At that word more confetti rained out of the mask's mouth, covering Nuri in black paper. He ignored the Professors that were quickly making their way to the table, brushing off some of the confetti with a look of disgust on his face.

"I have spent the last four years amassing power, courting some of the best and brightest in the wizarding world, and yet you, a sixth year, show more promissse than most of my followerss," the voice said through the mask, its hissing growing more pronounced. The Slytherins that had been so avidly listening started to lean away. One particularly nervous seventh year fell off of the bench entirely in an effort to put space between him and the piece of paper.

"I do not make thessse offers lightly, child, so do lisssten well." The mask inched forward towards him. "Join me. At my sside you will be great. I will teach you anything you wisssh to learn and we will rid the wizarding world of thiss muggle-loving ssssscum. At my right hand you will have power unparalleled by anything Dumbledore," the paper sneered the name so hatefully that it ripped at the edges of the 'mouth', "could offer you. If you join me, you will have a place of honor in the new regime once we topple the Minissstry for Magic."

Several first years had fainted, the school nurse making her way to their sides.

"But make no missstake child, if you side againssst me, it will mean your death!" The mask burst into a shower of sparks and paper, drifting down the table on an unseen draft.

Nuri took a moment to dust off a piece of confetti from his sleeve before glancing around the table. Every eye in the Great Hall was on him, everyone seeming to wait for something to shock them out of their state.

He turned to one wide eyed fourth year. "What precisely was that?"

The fourth year's eyes got bigger and his mouth opened and closed with no sound emerging.

"That, Mr. Nasri, was a Howler." The Headmaster vanished the paper with one angry sweep, stepping up behind Nuri.

Nuri could just imagine the angry look on Mujahid's face and a small smile slipped onto his lips, spooking the students closest to him.

Dumbledore's face more serious than most students had ever seen. "And from Voldemort at that," he said.

Every student and most of the staff shuddered at the name, drawing a raised eyebrow from Nuri.

"I see," he said, grabbing his bag from under his feet and stepping around the Headmaster.

The Professors were frozen, halfway to the Slytherin table. The Headmaster had apparently gotten there before them, but not soon enough for the Howler to finish its message. Not that it particularly mattered to Nuri; he had been expecting something of the sort to happen within the next couple weeks, provided the Warlord wasn't completely insane.

The students were sitting at their tables, staring at him with a mix of fright and shock. The Slytherins looked particularly shaken up, a fact that Nuri carefully tucked away to analyze at a later time.

Nodding to Mujahid he slipped the bag over his shoulder before walking out of the room, intent on making it to his first class before the people of Hogwarts shook themselves out of their stupor. He ignored the whispers that followed him.

****Heir to a Warlord**HP**Heir to a Warlord****

Nuri was in a particularly bad mood when he finally made it down to the dungeon that evening. Students and teachers had been haranguing him all day about the Howler he had received that morning from Voldemort, offering their opinion, advice, or just trying to make sure he wasn't planning on taking the man's offer.

His snort echoed down the corridor preceding him.

He had simply ignored their questions. But the students became bolder at his continued silence. Fifty points had been lost by Gryffindor for their excessive harassment during class, leading to more than one lecture being thrown completely off topic, and three Hufflepuffs had to be escorted to the Hospital Wing for getting too close to Nuri. Neither he nor Mujahid took people grabbing him well.

The Ravenclaws were trickier about it, whispering under their breaths in the library to avoid Madame Pince's ire. When they began to spell the pages of his book blank, transferring their questions to the page via a Switching spell, Nuri had abandoned the library. He deftly avoided the people in the halls, finding solace in an empty classroom where he could study in quiet.

He had found peace, but by the time he began to make any headway into his homework he was overdue for his session with Snape. Needless to say he was not in a good mood when he finally slammed into the unused classroom that they had been using.

The Potions Professor looked up from the papers he had been reading, simply raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic display of emotions before setting the sheet back down and banishing the pile. "And what has you in such a fine mood?" he asked, breaking the silence as he stepped forward into the middle of the room.

Nuri looked at the man warily, waiting for the inevitable questions. When the man continued to stare at him he shrugged off his book bag, dropping it between the door and Mujahid who had taken up guard against the wall. When the questions still didn't come Nuri turned back towards the man. "You Britons are nosy."

"Well," Snape said, shrugging out of his robe and banishing that as well, probably back to his rooms. "That was illuminating." He turned back to look at Nuri squarely, daring him to respond.

Nuri dropped his outer robe onto his bag, rolling his shoulders in an effort to get the muscles to unclench. He shifted into his fighting stance, ready for whatever curse Snape was going to throw at him. But when Nuri looked back up at the man, he was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at him. He growled in frustration, lifting his wand to curse the Professor, but all he got in return was a sardonic stare.

After a few moments he dropped his hand to his side, shifting his feet back into line. Another thirty seconds of silence passed before he crossed his arms and broke it. "You _wizards,_" he started, sneering the word, "have no sense of privacy."

The dour man snorted, shifting his hips and dropping his wand in-hand to his side. "Children world over lack any sense of decorum. I doubt it just the British."

"And the Professors," Nuri added, keeping his eyes on the man's hands. The man preferred to teach by experience, only stopping later to explain the ins and outs of a piece of magic.

"Indeed?" Snape asked, tapping the tip of his wand into his other hand. "I suppose this has to do with this morning's entertainment."

Nuri relaxed minutely, still keeping his attention on the wand but shifting his eyes to the man's face. "You are correct."

The Potion's Professor leaned against the desk behind him. "They are worried," he said simply, his black eyes drilling into Nuri.

Nuri snorted. "You would not think so with the bother I have been getting all day. I do not enjoy having to keep Mujahid from killing these… children."

Ire flashed in his black eyes. "Listen for once you horrifying little cretin. You, the Savior of the Wizarding World, have been missing for ten years, living in a savage, war-ridden country. When you do finally make your entry into the Wizarding World, you manage to send one man to Saint Mungo's and an unknown number of wizards to mind healers! Since getting to this school you have been a terror, threatening students while treating this institution as your own personal whore house! You, our only hope at overthrowing this murderous despot, are darker than he is! And you wonder why people are trying to figure out what you are going to do."

Nuri watching Snape impassively, a bit surprised by his vehemence. He was usually stoic to the point of rigor mortis during their lessons. "I can see your point," he drawled, watching the Potions Professor compose himself, relaxing the minute muscles that had stiffened during his rant.

A few moments of silence passed, the man appearing to be waiting for something. But as far as Nuri was concerned, if he was waiting for an answer to the question on everyone's lips that day, he would be waiting for a while.

"What will we be learning today?" he asked. He wasn't interested in yet another interrogation, so he decided to head off the conversation entirely.

Snape stared at him for a few heartbeats before nodding briskly and dropping his arms to his sides.

"I suggest that your… bodyguard, wait in the hall with your bag and robe," he said before turning around and pushing all the furniture to the walls with a well placed spell.

Nuri turned to Mujahid. **"You need to wait in the corridor. And please take my bag and robe with you."** He saw Snape stiffen out of the corner of his eye at the smooth language but ignored it. Mujahid just gave them both a dark glare before grabbing Nuri's stuff and stepping out the door, slamming it shut. Turning back to the Potions Professor he asked, "Now may I ask for what I upset Mujahid?"

With a particularly wide sweep of his wand the last desk hit the wall with a splintering sound. Turning around brusquely he started waving his wand around the room, muttering under his breath. Waves of pink and orange spells wafted from his wand before sailing out and sticking to the walls and the furniture against them. Before long the stones glittered with enchantments, likely wards. Nuri raised an eyebrow. Just what were they doing today?

One last wave of his wand had the splintered desk sitting by itself in the middle of the room, its jagged edges poking out like quills.

"Today you will be learning fiendfyre. It is a very spell that is quite easy to lose control of and the devastation it can wreck when uncontrolled is insurmountable by any other spell. I had considered not teaching you this at all, but I think it will help you with the control you have been lacking with your other dark spells." There was a very slight smirk at the edges of Snape's mouth.

Nuri scowled. Wizarding magics were quite different than an Adept's. Instead of coming from within, the magics were drawn out by the wand. The little budding witches and wizards didn't need to learn the rigid control drilled into aspiring Adepts; their wands performed the feat for them. Nuri's problem was that he wanted to draw the magics out, fighting the wand for control over them. The result was occasionally quite spectacular.

He was slowly learning to separate wizarding from Adept magic, letting the wand pull his magics out in controlled amounts, but he refused to give control of his magics away. Because of the spectacular, and unpredictable, results of some of his spells, Snape thought he lacked control entirely. Nuri had tried to explain it to him once, but as most wizards he refused to listen about magics done without a crutch.

The first time the magical theory was explained to Nuri, he had just stared blankly at Professor Snape. These people willingly tied themselves to their wands, entangling their magics so tightly with the pieces of wood that they could never imagine being able to perform spells without one. It hobbled their society in Nuri's eyes, but that was not really any of his business. If anything, it made his job here easier and taught him an important lesson to instill into his community when they brought wands and wand makers to Somalia.

"Many Dark spells are said to be alive, to have their own consciousness when they're brought into this world," the Professor continued, his eyes gaining the faraway look they adopted when the man was particularly passionate.

The dour man shifted, pacing slowly back and forth over the stones before continuing. "Some of the most dangerous Dark Arts are sentient. They have the ability to change and shift based on their intentions and the world around them. They can respond independently of the caster, making them exceedingly difficult to counter. Depending on the magic being cast, different approaches have to be used to handle them. I will not be teaching you the counter to Fiendfyre today. It is an exceedingly complicated spell that requires advanced spellwork and certainly not in the realm of the Dark Arts that you are so insistent on learning."

Nuri smirked at the ire in the man's voice. Despite his passion, it irked the Potions Master to have been placed in such a position.

"Fiendfyre is the only one classified as a Dark spell solely due its sentience. It is pure fire, given life. Its flames can devour everything in its path, regardless of any precautions taken." Snape was still pacing the flagstones, lost into his thoughts, and completely missed the interested sheen in Nuri's eyes.

"Imagine a toddler with the ultimate power of destruction. No morals or mores holding him back, nothing outside of his reach. That is why control is of the utmost importance with this spell. If you don't have absolute control over the magic, it will devour everything in its path, including you." The man stopped pacing, turning to face Nuri. "That is why I have placed every imaginable ward on these walls. If you manage to eat through those wards, then you'll have the castle's wards to deal with. I suggest you keep control over the spell, lest we be unable to walk from this room," he said, sneering. He didn't even wait for Nuri's curt nod before whipping around to face the splintered desk.

"_Fiendfyre!_"

Green and blue flames shot out of the end of the Potion Professor's wand, arcing into a tight spiral before splaying out and forming a snake's face, the rest of the body quickly forming down the magic until the tip of the tail left the wand. The fire-snake's jaws opened wide, its jaw unhinging, before crashing into the splintered desk like waves upon rocks. The desk burst into brightly colored flames, little snakes and scorpions forming out of the flamelets as they jumped from one chunk of wood to another. As the desk turned into ash the flames started leaping away from the desk, splashing uselessly against the flagstones and walls, finding nothing left to burn.

More than once Nuri had to duck to avoid the fire creatures, but otherwise he watched with avid interest. He had always had an affinity for fire, able to call and banish it at will. But it had always been something he could do and control, not something that had a life of its own to be tamed. And the magical fire could not be put out by anyone with enough water, making it far more useful to him.

Nuri felt his breath turned labored, but ignored it, intent on watching the full life of the magics. It took several minutes, but the fire finally extinguished with nothing left to burn. The Professor waved his wand and air rushed back into the room, relieving the burning need for oxygen that the fire had consumed.

"Without fuel, Fiendfyre will go out. But in normal circumstances that is not a concern. There will always be a blade of grass or piece of trash that the fire can latch onto and continue its life before finding something else," Snape said, staring at the ash on the floor before banishing it and summoning another piece of furniture.

"Professor," Nuri began, looking around at the stone walls. "Why is it considered such a strong spell if these wards prevent the magics from destroying things?"

The Potions Professor tapped the wand against his leg for a moment before responding. "You have to have both the dark intent and the power to control such magic before you can cast the spell. The… unpredictability of the spell deters most people from casting it unless they intend to cause widespread damage in a short amount of time. The wards are too difficult for most wizards and witches to cast, so it is too costly for the average person to have them placed on their homes and belongings given that the risk is so low."

Nuri contemplated this for a moment before shrugging. He always believed in protecting himself against any threat, no matter how small.

"The wand movement for the incantation is simple. A flick to the side with a short jab down," the man said, demonstrating with a quick flick and jab of his own wand. "The spell will not work without a desire to destroy something. After that, just hold onto the magic and don't let it slip!" The last was said with a growl. Nuri noticed that the man never put his wand away.

Nuri drew his wand from his holster, rubbing the tip down the ridged flames on his arm. He had been focusing so hard on learning wizarding magics that it had been months since he had been able to work with his element. He felt the scars heat up, warmth wafting off of his arms and soothing him. He never noticed Snape's sharp eyes looking at the scars and back up at his face.

Lifting the wand he practiced the flick and jab several times before taking a deep breath, letting it out and smoothly incanting, "_Fiendfyre._"

Normally when he called upon his fire magics he could feel a strong, directed force coming from his core, running down his arms and out his hands in a very controlled manner. Unless he was particularly rushed or exhausted, it was a warm, comforting feeling, like a hug caressing him from the inside out. This was nothing like that.

This was white hot flame, coming up from the earth through his feet and using his body as a conduit. His existence was superfluous outside of a tool, to be used and burned away. All of his magic channels, long since honed through training, were flooded and overwhelmed with power, so strong he wanted to scream. It was using his magics to take shape and unleash itself on the world, absolutely heedless of his intent or experience. It reminded him of the first time he ever used fire and ended up burning down most of the trees on his aabbe's property. He had absolutely no control.

The bright green fire burst out of the end of his wand like lava, throwing globs of flame around the room with every movement. The mass vaguely looked like the Chinese dragons that Nuri had seen in a picture book when he was a child, but its body bulged and twisted, making it nearly unrecognizable.

The flames crashed over the desk like a wave on the shore, burning the wood to ash in a pillar of fire. It didn't take long for the spell to turn away from the desk, corkscrewing around in a wide red and orange arc before flinging itself back at him.

He couldn't help but cry out in alarm, throwing himself out of the way only to land painfully on the stone floor. He heard Snape incant another spell and flipped over in time to see a blue spell spread out between him and the Fiendfyre. The Potions Master had his wand arm flung out in front of him, an intense look of concentration on his face, and the spell poured out of the tip of his wand in blue-green waves. It rippled out in a thin sheet like water, distorting Nuri's view of the fire spell. When the Fiendfyre hit the shield, it sputtered and hissed, trying to turn away. The Professor's spell warped when it touched the fire, wrapping around the flames and struggling with them, until they collapsed underneath the spell.

Sweat was dripping down the Potions Master's face when the Fiendfyre gave one last dying wail. He dropped his arm and wiped his forehead with the other sleeve before turning to Nuri.

"Did I not say that this spell required _control_, you imbecile!" he snapped, stepping forward before he towered over Nuri's prone form. "A first year would have had more control over that spell than that, you dimwit!"

Nuri looked up at the frothing man, his face impassive. Snape's face had turned a nearly tomato shade of red, a look that definitely did his naturally sallow skin no favors. He couldn't help but prickle at the man's words but tamped it down. He wanted to learn what this man had to offer, and really he should have had more control over fire than that.

Once his heart slowed back down to its resting level, Nuri stood up from the floor, brushing himself off as he ignored the irate Professor's continued rants. He felt excitement well up within him. What _power_. His natural affinity for fire made the spell interesting on its own, but it had been a while since anything had challenged his magics in such a way. Years, in fact. He couldn't wait to try it again.

When Snape's rant finally petered out, Nuri leveled him an unimpressed look. "While I greatly respect your skill in your fields of magics, Professor, please stop speaking to me like that." He let a bit of his fire magics warm up his channels, causing his scars to flicker and his eyes to glow. The Professor's face paled out quickly, the change from bright red to chalk white rather startling. He relished the feeling of the familiar magics before snuffing them out and returning to the spell at hand.

"Now, what can I do to gain more control over this spell? I felt it race up through my feet and then out through my wand. Is there a way to control that?" he asked, trying to remember the way the magics felt using his body like a tool.

It took Snape a moment to respond, but he finally did, starting to explain the minutia of the spell in a level of detail that a Master only could. Despite his early fervor, the Professor didn't get lost in the magics again. The wariness never left his eyes when he looked at the Warlord's heir.

****Heir to a Warlord**HP**Heir to a Warlord****

Draco sat straight up in bed, his heart racing as he struggled to pull himself completely out of somnolence. The room was still dark with night, giving nothing for him to focus on as he tried to pull himself away from the flickering nightmares of his dreams. He tried to smooth out his panicked breath, relaxing it from the fast pant his terror had created, trying and match the boys still asleep around him. Slow. Steady.

He flicked the covers off of him, kicking roughly as one of the sheets tangled around his foot. He felt the brief press of claustrophobia before the bedding finally relinquished his leg, throwing them over the side of the bed and touching down on the floor. The cold stones underneath his feet sent a chill up through his legs, but centered him, pulling him away from the slowly fading nightmares. It wasn't long before only shadows remained and the room came into clearer focus.

Draco had no interest in returning to sleep, so he rose from his bed, intent on a warm shower to chase the last of the shadows away. He was just forgetting about the nightmare and had no intention on thinking more on it. He reveled in the first hot water of the morning before shutting the shower off and speeding through the rest of his morning ablutions. He stepped out of the warm bathroom and back into the chill of the dorm room, intent on getting dressed as quickly as he could in the dark.

Finding his wardrobe easily enough, he pulled out a uniform and dressed. As he finished tying his shoes on his eyes wandered to Nuri's bed, as they always did without his bidding, but the boy wasn't there. He knew that the foreigner was an early riser since he was always gone when Draco got up, but it was long before dawn and he was already missing.

Putting it out of his mind he left the dorm, intent on a morning walk to clear his head before breakfast was served. He always loved to be outside just before daybreak. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the appearance of the sun before it could continue on. Everything was wet with the evening's dew and a light fog hovered over the ground, waiting for the first rays of the morning to burn it away.

Draco was nearly to the Forbidden Forest before he heard a noise unlike any wildlife he had ever heard. Reverberating crashes of wood hitting wood were punctuated by the sounds of grunts and dull thuds. It was too close to the castle to be the centaur herd rumored to make its home in the Forest, but he couldn't think of anything else that would make those noises.

He rounded a large thatch of bushes, looking for the source of the noise, when he came across two men fighting. They were clad only in thin pants and sweating despite the chill morning air. It didn't take long to identify them as the mysterious transfer student and his bodyguard. The vicious scars they both sported were enough to make them easily identifiable, despite their thrashing speed.

Draco was immediately captivated by the sight of his fellow student. While the student's unusual robes allowed for the scars on his arms to be quite visible the majority of the time, he had never taken any of his clothing off in front of anybody, even his dorm mates. This was the first time Draco had seen the man without his shirt on and it did nothing to quench the lust and desire that had been building in him for the previous two months.

Nuri was small for his age, a bit too thin given the visible indents between his ribs, but he was fit with no fat to impede the outline of each muscle. Draco's eyes followed the sweat that dripped down his chest, falling into the indent of a ropey scar that bisected his chest from nipple to navel. In a world so obsessed with perfection Draco had gotten used to the polished porcelain most purebloods preferred to imitate. The advanced medical charms coupled with intricate glamours made it possible to look like anything, be anyone. Hardly anybody who frequented the circles of the pureblood elite looked like themselves. But somehow it made the scars marring his fantasy's body to be all the more enticing. The intentional patterns carved out on his arms spoke of a completely different world, seductive in their obvious intention. Draco wanted to know what kind of a culture made imperfections of the skin a badge of honor.

A quick twist to the side and Draco's view was impeded by the Nuri's bodyguard who had made an abrupt attack against his charge, startling the hiding blond. He had been so involved in his lustful perusal that he had completely forgotten about the battle he had stumbled upon.

After a particularly vicious attack, the bodyguard shouted something at Nuri in a language Draco had never heard before, sounding like one long stream of lyrical words. Draco had difficulty differentiating once sentence from another, a problem Nuri obviously did not have when he yelled back at the man in the same language, blatantly taunting him. Nuri's words somehow sounded sweeter to Draco's ears, although that was probably just fanciful thinking.

The loud crash of their two wooden staves startled Draco who jumped, rustling some of the bushes he was hiding behind. He held his breath, waiting for one of the Somalis to notice, but they were too involved in their pitched battle to notice a movement that could have been caused by a scurrying rat. Not that it was that far from the truth.

But Draco certainly wasn't complaining. He made sure to stay scrupulously still as he watched them clash again, their bodies twisting in ways Draco had not seen before. He had been taught battle magic from a young age, but wizarding fights involved both participants standing still as they threw magic at one another. Battles amongst wizards were won by the strongest spellcaster or, in some cases, the quickest. A strong ward didn't do much if you didn't get it up in time to block a simple hex. Many a strong wizard had been felled that way.

It had honestly never occurred to Draco to _move_. The ward wouldn't have to be strong or fast if you moved out of the way of the spell entirely. Then you could focus on your next attack, instead of making sure you held the ward up long enough to defend against your opponent. Even moving regularly would probably help, Draco figured. A moving target had to be harder to hit. Hell, if any wizard thought to duck, they would probably quickly climb the ranks of the dueling circuits. Of course they would be completely ostracized by the wizarding elite that participated in such tournaments.

He watched the two men trading blows, considering his options. He had been raised to be a student of battle, poring over texts at a young age at his father's behest and studying different wars and the Generals' techniques. But they had always been wizarding wars, and while his father had made sure he was able to fight physically, it had never occurred to him to combine the two methods. He wondered if he would be able to convince Nuri to teach him, or at least let him participate while he trained. It seemed unlikely, but it was certainly worth the chance.

One final crack echoed through the small clearing, startling Draco again, although he didn't flinch that time. He looked up to see Nuri standing over his bodyguard, holding his now broken staff at the man's neck. He looked fierce, like a lion standing over its prey, or a Lord holding court over his insubordinates, and Draco felt pure, burning lust.

And if the training sessions could bring him closer to Nuri, all the better. The boy had been so single minded in both his studies and the pursuit of random individuals that he hardly noticed anyone outside of his immediate world. It made it difficult for anyone to get close to him and while Draco certainly was interested in bedding the exotic student, he didn't want to be classed with the other males who had slept with him only to get thrown out on their arses.

A sharp hiss broke Draco's thoughts and he put all of his training into not crying out when a Runespoor slithered out from between two shrubs and looked up at him from between his feet. He panicked, scrambling backwards as quickly and quietly as he could while not drawing the attention of the two men still in the clearing. He never noticed two pairs of eyes looking right past the low plants and directly at him as he extracted himself from the clearing, intent on making it back to the castle as soon as possible.

When he finally made it back into the castle and took a seat in the nearly empty Great Hall it occurred to him to question what a Runespoor was doing out in the wild so far north.

****Heir to a Warlord**HP**Heir to a Warlord****

_**Please review! **It so makes my day :-D_


	27. Halalayn

**Summary:** At six years of age Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU, eventual slash HPDM, **dark!Harry**.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would be traveling, not working.

**A/N:** This is one of the chapters I have been planning since I started this story. Enjoy. :-)

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**November 1996**

A screech resounded in the Great Hall, a sound of pure fury and anger causing more than a few people to cover their ears. Every head in the Hall turned to the Gryffindor table where the bushy haired outcast looked ready to tear the book she was reading in half. Her hair frizzed with wild magic, strands coming loose from the perpetual bun she forced it into. The students closest to her leaned away, one even going as far to get up from the bench, stepping away from the furious girl entirely.

Nuri glanced over at the girl in vague curiosity. He shared two classes with the Gryffindors and knew of the girl. Hermione Granger was her name, if he remembered it correctly. She was the subject of more than a few insulting conversations in the Slytherin common room. She also tended to infuriate the teachers with her perpetual questions and "know-it-all attitude" (that was one rant from Professor Snape that he would never forget), so she was hard to miss. But Nuri had never spoken to her. He had dismissed her entirely as not worth his notice, a decision her little temper tantrum was reinforcing.

She threw the book down, cracking a plate and sending food flying. One of the girls in her year said something to her, drawing her attention away from the book she was glaring at. Nuri couldn't hear what she snapped, but the other girl cowered away from her.

Nuri rolled his eyes before picking up his fork to resume his dinner, his movement somehow catching her attention. Her head snapped up and she leveled a fierce glare at him. He raised an eyebrow wondering what in the world he did to raise her ire.

Granger stood up abruptly, disturbing the bench enough that several students fell off of it. The girl didn't seem to notice as she roughly grabbed the book she had been reading from the mess of food it had landed in and stomped across the Great Hall. The room was silent, every eye on the deranged girl, wondering just what set the normally quiet bookworm off.

She rounded the end of the Slytherin table, ignoring the glares she was receiving, and stopped directly behind Nuri, brandishing the book in front of her.

"Is this true?" she demanded, her strident voice echoing in the silent Hall.

Nuri set down his fork, shifting in his seat so he could face the girl without craning his neck. He glanced at the book, unimpressed by her vehemence, before looking back at her and responding. "I am sorry, but I have no idea to what you refer."

This seemed to infuriate the girl more. Nearly all of her hair was out of its habitual bun and the ends of it almost seemed to be crackling with energy. It reminded Nuri of the legends of Medusa he had read as a child.

"This!" she said, stabbing her finger at the book. "This- this _barbaric_ practice!"

Nuri glanced between the nondescript cover of the book and the furious student, giving her a thoroughly unimpressed look. "I really have no idea of what you are speaking. Perhaps clarification?"

The girl gave out a strangled scream, earning some disgusted looks from the more refined Slytherins. Her hands were shaking, And Nuri wondered just what had bothered her so badly.

"I had my mother owl me some books on your _country_," she said, her words clipped and her face ugly. She sneered at the last word, putting Nuri on edge. "I thought it would be interesting to learn a bit about but this- this is disgusting! How can you treat women like this! It's like they're no better than cattle, to be branded and mutilated as you please!"

Nuri stared at the girl impassively, but that seemed to anger her even more.

"What do you mean Granger?" a girl from their table asked. Nuri glanced down at the girl, Daphne Greengrass, his mind supplied. She avoided his gaze.

The Gryffindor outcast started turning red in her fury, her teeth bared. She looked like a hyena over fresh carrion. "Women are no better than slaves to them, owned and married off by their families for dowries determined by the status of their- their," she paused, gritting her teeth. "W-womanly parts."

Mutters started up around the Hall at her statement. A Gryffindor shouted, "What, as in how it smells?"

Laughter echoed across the Hall. Nuri threw a quick glance at the head table, and saw that the Professors were muttering to one another, apparently debating on what to do. The Headmaster simply sat back, his watery blue eyes trained on the Gryffindor girl with an inscrutable face.

"No your cretin, by how well she's sewn up!" her disgust loosened her tongue, evaporating her stutter entirely. The laughter stopped immediately, more than a few students looking completely shocked.

"Sewn up?" Daphne cautiously asked, voicing the question that was probably on everyone's mind. Nuri just watched impassively, a bit confused by the whole display.

"Yes, sewn up! According to the UNICEF," she said, flipping through the book that had her in such a tizzy until she found the page she was looking for. "Aha! There it is. According to UNICEF, 98 percent of women in Somalia have undergone some form of genital mutilation. 98 percent!" Her voice echoed throughout the now silent Hall. She jabbed the page so viciously that she almost tore the paper with her fingernail.

"And they perform the worst kind in Somalia too, with damn near 90% of the women having all of their external genitalia removed when they're young girls!" Her rage had overcome her initial shyness, leaving more than one student a bit green. "Then- then they tie the girls' legs together for weeks afterward, so the whole thing scars over, leaving only a small hole to pee through!"

More than a few of the female students looked faint and even the boys looked nauseous at Granger's revelation.

Nuri simply looked at the girl, feeling a bit off balance by her tirade. Confusion curled through his belly, supplanting the previous disgust he felt at her lack of restraint. Just what had her so upset? "Halalayn? Purification. Of course we do."

Granger paled out before shaking her head, her frizzy hair floating freely around her head. "It's barbaric!"

Nuri simply tilted his head. So this is what she was so furious about? "It is not barbaric, it is tradition. All girls go to the Guddaay before they hit puberty, they could not be mothers otherwise."

"What do you mean they could not be mothers otherwise. The only way that would affect that is if the scarring damages their reproductive system! It does not help them become mothers!" Granger was practically screeching, but nobody seemed to mind, watching their conversation with wide eyes.

"What man would want them without the scar? Any respectable man would demand a woman who had gone through gudniinka fircooniga ah," Nuri said simply. "How else could they be sure she was a virgin? Or guarantee she will not stray out of his bed?"

Hermione gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth several times, obviously unsure of how to reply. Nuri looked at her curiously. He just didn't understand what she was so upset about.

Daphne seemed to regain her wits about her, looking at Nuri warily but addressing him all the same. "You think that cutting a woman's… parts, off keeps her faithful?"

"Of course it does," he scoffed. "Excising a girl of her dirty bits keeps her mind on the family. It keeps the more masculine ideas out of her head and reduces her drive for intercourse. Any respectable man requires their bride to have gone through the procedure, unless he wishes that she stray."

Everyone was looking at the Somali in horror, causing Nuri's eyebrows to come together in confusion.

"You do not do this?" he asked, utterly confused.

Many of the female students were turning red, fury slowly making its way onto their faces. Several Slytherins were fingering their wands.

Theo, a quiet Slytherin boy in his year, cleared his throat and responded before one of the girls jumped on him. "No, that- that is definitely not done here." He looked a bit queasy, just how Nuri was starting to feel.

"You mean none of the females here have been circumcised?" he asked, glancing at the students around him and scrunching up his nose when Theo shook his head. "Not even Sunna?"

Theo looked confused, "Sunna?"

"He means type I mutilation, or the removal of the clitoris," Hermione responded, her voice trembling with rage. Theo, and several other students, flinched at her bald statement. "It's a word that refers to the supposed support in Islam for female circumcision, despite the Qu'ran only referring to male circumcision." She yanked the book open to a random page, flipping through the pages viciously until she came to a particular spot and sneered. "Supposedly its support was in a few hadiths that were never fully authenticated, but the practice still came into common use." Reciting facts seemed to calm the infuriated girl, despite the fact that nobody knew what she was talking about.

She turned back to Nuri, nearly snarling in her rage. "How can you support this- this bogus idea! It doesn't stop a woman from leaving her husband, it only damages her! The facts are all here," she said, hitting the book rather hard, ignoring a tearing noise. "Many of these girls hemorrhage to death and those that don't have a life time of complications, not to mention having to be cut open whenever their husbands want to have sex with them!"

More than one student got ill at this proclamation.

"I do not understand what you are upset about, but we Somalis have a saying, 'Caado la gooyo, Carra Allay Leedahay.' Stopping a tradition brings the anger of God. The girls' are in God's hands. Whether they live or die is God's will," he said.

He truly did not understand why the girl looked so furious. Neither he nor his aabbe were particularly religious but they both understood, as all Somalis did, that their lives were in God's hands. He didn't know what he had to do with these women living or dying. He wasn't the one performing the event, that was reserved for a Guddaay, or, if the family was well off, the medical doctor.

Nuri's last statement seemed to push Hermione over the edge because she lunged at him, forgetting her book entirely in her intent to get her hands around his neck.

Several Stupefies were cast from the head table, the Professors having kept a close eye on their argument, impacting the girl before she was able to reach him. Mujahid already had his rifle cocked and aimed when the girl hit the floor.

The Transfiguration Professor made her way off of the dais and down to the Slytherin table before flicking her wand to float the immobilized girl. She gave Nuri a poisonous glare before floating her out through the main doors, presumably to the hospital wing. The Headmaster waited for the doors to slam shut before addressing the Hall.

"Now that we have all been put off of our appetite, I believe it is time for you all to be retiring to your common rooms," Dumbledore said, his amplified voice drowning out the avid conversations that were taking place across the room. A wave of his wand and all of the food vanished

"If you find yourself a might peckish later, please call a house elf to bring you a snack. Only for tonight though. If you try to call a house elf for a midnight snack on another evening, you will find them less than obliging. Now off to bed!" He seemed to be attempting for levity, but it fell short in the shocked room.

The students slowly left the Hall, too intent on gossiping with each other to pay too much heed to the Headmaster. Nuri shrugged and stood up, making his way towards the large doors and down to the dungeon. If the students gave him a particularly wide berth, he didn't put much mind to it.

* * *

It had been several weeks since the early morning when Draco had seen Nuri and his bodyguard sparring but he still hadn't gotten up the nerve to speak with the other student about it. It didn't help that he was still quite unnerved from the Gryffindork Know-It-All's revelation a week before. The students as a whole were avoiding the Somali for the most part, the girls far too angry to do anything but throw curses at him when they were in a close proximity. Not that Draco could blame them, the whole idea made him a bit nauseous, but despite the barbaric tradition he still felt a pull deep in his belly to get to know the culture in general and Nuri in particular.

While the male students had been quite a bit disgusted by Nuri's proclamation on a woman's worth, their libidos were apparently too strong to ignore. In the evenings Nuri was rarely seen in the common room unless he was with a particular boy, much to Draco's ire. In class he was far too focused, completely ignoring the other students in his single-minded drive to learn whatever spell was on the syllabus that day. The only time Draco had the opportunity to speak with the Somali was during meal times, as long as he was willing to risk a rather frightening glare.

Stepping into the Great Hall that morning, Draco was relieved to see Nuri sitting near one end of the table, surrounded by empty chairs. It looked like only about half of the Slytherins had made it down to breakfast that morning, so those seats were going to be filled quickly (whether or not the other students wanted to sit next to the strange boy). Although the girls would probably simply sit at another table entirely, as they had been doing for the last week.

He made his way across the room, completely ignored by all the half-asleep students and the Professors nursing their coffees, and sat down in the seat right next to Hogwarts' most famous student. That got the attention of several people in the Hall, but their focus moved back to their breakfasts when Draco received nothing but a cold glare from the boy.

The room began to fill up rather quickly, the noise level sharply increasing with the influx of half of the Gryffindors, but Draco just played with his food, wracking his brain for a way to start a conversation with the elusive Somali.

The owl post came in as Draco reached for a second helping of toast and he completely ignored the paper set in front of his plate. He never read it before lunch anyway. He took a large bite out of a bit of melon when he realized that the Hall had suddenly gone quiet. Glancing up he saw groups of students gathered around copies of the Daily Prophet, gesturing their friends to join them until it seemed like the entire Hall was engrossed. Then the whispers started.

The hissing quality of hundreds of children attempting to keep quiet was trying on the ears, but one Gryffindor made a stupid comment which had them all laughing and the noise in the Hall ratcheted up a couple decibels. He saw the other students pointing at Nuri, acting as if the sharp student couldn't see their boorish behavior.

"Malfoy."

A shiver slid down Draco's spine at the warm, rich voice calling him. He turned to the side to see Nuri's attention directly on him.

"Could I please read your papers?"

It seemed that as soon as the attention was on him it slid away again, spreading out to encompass the student body. Draco watched as Nuri's eyes roamed the tables, staring impassively at those arrogant enough to meet his eyes. He held his hand out towards Draco expectantly, apparently assuming his compliance. Draco felt a slice of irritation blow through him and had the irrational urge to ignore the request. Taking a deep breath Draco let the aggravation go. Alienating the boy he wanted to get close to was a surefire method to failure. Instead, he just dropped the paper into Nuri's hand.

Returning to his melon, he watched surreptitiously as Nuri unfolded the Daily Prophet, the crinkle of the paper drawing a couple students' attention who in turn signaled to their friends that Nuri was reading whatever it was that caught their attention.

Nothing in Nuri's face changed as he read the front page article, but Draco heard his fingers tighten, wrinkling the paper in apparent agitation. By the time he finished reading the whole Hall was silent, waiting for his reaction. He folded the paper, setting it carefully between their two plates before standing up. Swinging down to grab his backpack he didn't even pause to signal Mujahid before making his way up to the High Table where the Professors were all watching him warily.

The room had been set up perfectly by the original architects. In most of the Hall the sound was softened, keeping the student body below a low roar on most days. The architects also intended for the faculty to be easily heard whenever they made an announcement, probably before the Sonorus charm was invented, so they shaped the room and dais accordingly. They had done a wonderful job. When Nuri spoke to the Headmaster in the silent Hall, his voice carried to everyone's ears.

"I will be unavailable for classes today," he began after he had stepped directly in front of Dumbledore. "I trust there will be a way to retrieve the notes I need without any undue issues?" Nuri asked, seeming to ignore the entire student population at his back. By the subtle shifting of his stance, Draco would have bet most of his family's fortune that Nuri was well aware of the students and uncomfortable with opening himself up for attack.

The Headmaster looked wary, but he agreed all the same. Draco couldn't help but wonder just what Nuri held over the old man's head to get him to capitulate so easily.

With a curt nod Nuri turned away from the dais and headed for the huge doors leading to the Great Hall, completely ignoring the whispering and pointing. He strode to the exit, leaving it quickly with his bodyguard in tow.

When the doors slammed shut the occupants of the hall burst into a flurry of noise and movement. More than a few of them were fervently gossiping, including a couple teachers, and the rest of them had returned to exclaiming over the article itself.

Draco carefully dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin, trying to listen into the Slytherin conversations around him, but the upper years really had a good grip on their defensive spying techniques which made eavesdropping impossible. Once he was sure he had regained his aplomb he reached for the news rag, taking time to flatten out the deep creases and folds that Nuri had inadvertently left in the paper.

It didn't take long to see what had captured the interest of the bloodthirsty, gossiping students, nor what had upset Nuri so. A photo of Nuri, ducking between two buildings in Diagon Alley took up half of the page, the Nuri in the photo looking sheepish, a look Draco had never seen even hinted on the boy's face before. Probably a fault in the print-making process. But the big, bold and flashing headline is what really captured his attention and he knew that moment that whoever had printed the article had made a colossal mistake.

**Golden Boy or Rent Boy?**

_The Daily Prophet_

Inna Banks, Correspondent

Three months have passed since our missing Savior made his unexpected reappearance in the Wizarding World, stunning us with violence and mayhem. But since that first, fatal day, not a word has been heard from him. All requests for an audience have been ignored, making us wonder just what the Wonder Boy is hiding?

While extensive research has turned up nothing on our Golden Boy's past, a few brave students have come forth with a shocking revelation:

The Boy-Who-Lived is Gay!

According to one of his fellow students, since arriving in our world, the Boy Hero has been making a concerted effort to work his way through the boys of Hogwarts.

"It's disgusting!" one courageous Gryffindor told me. "It's like he has a different guy trailing after him every week. I didn't even know there were so many gays in Hogwarts!"

According to one lone Slytherin student, "you should see him in our common room. He's got these ****s draped all over them. Purebloods acting like common *****s!" (comment edited for print).

And these students implicated in this scandal? Well they refuse to comment. Is this an indication of our Hero's prowess, or are they not speaking out in fear of what our Boy Wonder will do to them?

What about the teachers there? Do the Professors allow licentiousness to run unchecked in Hogwarts, or is this being ignored because of the Boy-Who-Lived's status?

While the Wizarding world is ambivalent on the topic of homosexuality, from what I have been able to uncover it carries a death sentence in the country he is calling home, Somalia. So just what is the Boy Hero doing? Making up for lost time? Or is he preying on the male students because he cannot do so in his 'home' country?

This reporter will not rest until our boys are safe from this masked predator.

* * *

Nuri ignored Mujahid shadowing him down the stone steps of the castle, too intent on the wards he knew ended at the main gate. It had been years since anyone had dared speak a word against the Warlord's heir, whether it be due to fear from his aabbe or fear of Nuri himself. And to infer that he was a whore, pulling one innocent boy into his bed after another? He couldn't think of many other things that could be a greater insult.

He passed the wrought iron gates, spinning around and grabbing Mujahid's wrist before popping away. He had heard about apparition a week or two after he started his lessons with Professor Snape and immediately demanded that the man teach it to him. It had taken a couple weeks' concerted effort, but he was now able to apparate instead of taking the miserable port key that Dumbledore had insisted on every time.

He landed in the alley behind Ollivander's Wand Shoppe, one of the places he remembered best in Diagon Alley. The alley was just as dingy as he remembered, slime and mold covering the decaying brick walls and trash littering the path. He dropped Mujahid's wrist, ignoring the obviously nauseous man to make his way out to the main street.

He stepped out onto the cobblestone, looking left and right hoping to see the office for the Daily Prophet that he knew was supposed to be on the street somewhere, but the Alley was crowded with people and the stores not well marked. Weaving into the crush of people, he made his way down the Alley, looking for the office space, but the crowd was moving too quickly and the stores too dingy for him to tell apart. It seemed that everyone already knew where the stores were, unsurprising given that most of them seemed to be opened hundreds of years beforehand.

Nuri grabbed the sleeve of a passing by witch, a woman laden with bags and mumbling to herself. She startled, spinning around to face him.

"What do you-" she started to lay into him only to cut off at the sight of him. Her eyes flicked up to his forehead in a manner he was becoming accustomed to (and irritated by) and her eyes grew wide. "Bu- but- you-" she stuttered before turning around quickly and melting into the crowd.

He frowned at her behavior, but shook his head and turned to a tall, gruff man that was just passing by him.

"Could you tell me where I could find the Daily Prophet?" he asked, stepping in front of the man before he could keep walking past him.

The man stopped abruptly, obviously a bit surprised by somebody stepping in front of him. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped before flicking his eyes up to his bare forehead and exclaiming, "Blimey! You're Harry Potter!"

Several heads turned at the man's exclamation, the people glancing at him before whispering to their friends. Soon a large section of the Alley was staring at him, waiting for his response.

Nuri was uncomfortable by the proclamation. He remembered what happened when he was in Diagon Alley with his aabbe, and he had a whole contingent at the time to protect him from the mob. Now it was just him and Mujahid. Instead of worrying about it, he just stared at the man, unimpressed. "I do believe that is one of my names."

He heard several women squeal and it seemed like the majority of the group scattered, leaving him a rather wide berth. The man who had identified him try to sneak by in the rush, but Nuri roughly grabbed his robe and turned the man to face him.

"The Daily Prophet?" he asked, more than a hint of malice in his tone. He was really starting to lose his patience. "Where can I find its office?"

The man pointed a shaky hand down the cobblestone street, toward the towering Gringotts bank. "J-just down the Alley, past Gringotts. I-it's a r-red building."

Nuri released the grip he had on the man's robe, letting him run off with the rest of the crowd, before turning around and heading toward Gringotts. While he didn't like being so easily identified, whatever had spooked the populace certainly helped him. The crowd parted before him, leaving him a several feet gap that left him feeling far more comfortable than the previous crush.

It was actually quite a bit past Gringotts, but Nuri finally came across a red building with a flashing sign reading "Home of the Daily Prophet, Premier News Source". He pushed the door open hard enough for it to bounce off the wall behind it.

A pimply boy that looked like he just left Hogwarts yelped at the loud bang, scattering the papers he had been organizing all over the floor. He leapt off the chair, skidding on the floor as he tried to collect them before the wind scattered them further. Irritated at being ignored, Nuri slammed the door shut after Mujahid, causing the kid to drop all of his papers again.

"Who runs this newspaper?" he asked, stepping up to tower over the boy.

The young wizard looked up at him, his eyes wide behind ungainly glasses. "Uh- uh, you'll probably want to talk to Alan Friedman, our Editor-in-Chief, but he only sees people by appointment. He-he's a very busy man…" the boy trailed off at the furious look on Nuri's face. His eyes flicked to Mujahid standing behind him, gun at the ready, and he paled. Muggleborn, apparently. "But if you want to see him, his office is the last one down the hall to the right!" The words stumbled out of his mouth quickly as he gestured to one of the two halls leading off the entryway.

Nuri nodded before turning down the hall, signaling Mujahid to follow. The kid yelped when the other Somali stepped too close to him. The hallway was short, the open doors along the way opening to large rooms filled with either machines or screaming people. Nobody seemed to pay the two interlopers any mind. It wasn't long before they stood in front of an intricate door with the words 'Alan Friedman, Editor-in-Chief' in bold, shining letters that occasionally burst into fireworks.

Sneering, Nuri grabbed the handle, slamming the door open with no regard to the inlaid glass. He was mildly disappointed when the door was cushioned by something before it hit the wall.

Alan Friedman was standing behind his desk, yelling at a young witch who was rapidly taking notes with one quill and paper while an acid green one took notes on its own beside her. The only word Nuri could think of to describe this man was corpulent. He had rolls of fat dripping over his collar, his neck having disappeared completely between the pudge in his face and his enormous shoulders. His robe was draped over his chair and he had distinctly muggle clothing on, the thin linen button-up showing the large rings of sweat under his arms.

"-and another thing, those goblins at the banks are going to have to start talking, because the good wizards and witches of this world aren't going to put up with their egregious hikes in- that's egregious you cow! E-G-R- oh go buy a dictionary and get out of my sight you halfwit!" he shouted at the young woman, leaning over his desk. Spittle was flying from his mouth, completely ignored as it coated the papers on the man's desk.

The witch clutched the paper and quill to her chest, scurrying out of the office while tears spilled down her cheeks.

"And don't come back until you learn basic grammar you Who the hell are you?" the Editor-in-Chief demanded, never even taking a breath before shouting at the newcomers.

Nuri leveled an unimpressed look at the man before stepping up to the desk, careful to avoid the half-soaked papers. He heard Mujahid close the door behind him, stepping in front of it to bar the exit.

"What do you think you are- get out of here! You shouldn't be in here!" Friedman was obviously furious, a red flush creeping up his fat neck and a pinched look to his face.

"My name is Nuri Idris Nasri, son to Idris Nasri Abri, and I do not appreciate you publishing bad information about me," Nuri said, his voice quiet but fierce.

A confused look replaced the pinched skin around the Editor's eyes and mouth, his eyes bulging in his round face. "You're who? I don't remember ever hearing about you, much less printing something!"

"I do not think you understand," Nuri said, his anger clipping his words and making it difficult to translate correctly. "You have committed grievous harm against me, printing lies in your _papers,_" he spat.

Friedman leaned back, looking at Nuri for a moment before a sneer deformed his face. "Look buddy, I don't know who you think you are, but in this country we have freedom of press, and even if you were in the Daily Prophet, it is our right as British citizens to publish news articles, not that I think it likely that you are newsworthy." He sat down in his chair, leaning forward onto his desk, his pudgy arms causing his shirt to strain horribly. "Now get out of my office before I call the aurors to escort you out!"

Nuri heard the telltale click behind him. In his mind's eye he could see the Somali flipping his rifle around into his hands, loading a cartridge into the chamber. For the first time since they entered the office Friedman glanced behind Nuri and saw the man accompanying him. His swollen face paled out to a sickly yellow color at the sight of the Somali and the gun in his hands.

"Y-y-you c-can't be b-bringing that in here!" he stuttered, sweat beading rapidly on his forehead. He leaned back in his chair sharply, holding his empty hands out in front of him. "We're decent p-people. T-there's no need to bring in g-gums in here."

Nuri tisked at the man, slowly shaking his head. "It is 'gun', Mr. Fried Man." The man's terror eased the anger in his chest, the heat and fury cooling down to a slow, frigid burn. "I understand that anger against blood runs your world, but hiring one born Muggle would keep you from making these large mistakes."

The man shook his head several times, the color slowly making its way back onto his face only to gather in two points on his cheeks. "Wh-who are you?"

"As I said, my name is Nuri Idris Nasri. However, you people seem to like to name me Harry Potter."

Any color that the man had regained fled at this pronouncement, causing Nuri to smile, his teeth bared at the corpulent man.

"While I know that things are done differently here in your world, I find myself having a hard time changing. In Somalia, buildings are seen as temporary structures," he said, gesturing to the walls of the office. "They are easily susceptible to the furies and angers of war. So if a building falls down unexpectedly," he paused, looking at the walls thoughtfully before turning his attention back to the Editor-in-Chief, "nobody thinks anything."

Nuri stepped around the man's desk, sitting on its corner while leaning closer to Friedman. "And if one man insults another and then winds up dead-" he cut off abruptly, a fierce smile twisting his lips as Friedman backed up quickly. "Well, we figure he should not have insulted such a powerful man."

"Now now, h-hold on a minute," the editor said, twisting to stand behind his chair in an ungainly movement. "I-I think we can work things out. Nobody needs to be upset or tear down any buildings, we can be decent wizards here."

Nuri looked at the man for a moment before looking down at Friedman's desk. He picked up a gilded picture frame, cradling it between his hands while he looked at the picture of a smiling girl.

He smiled, turning the photo around to face the Editor-in-Chief. "Is this your daughter?" he asked, looking again at the picture of a round-faced girl with tight, blonde ringlets.

"L-l-leave her out of this!" he said, his anger quickly overcoming his stutter.

Nuri looked back up at the rapidly reddening man. "I do not know what you are talking about," he said with a smile. "I was just complimenting you on your beautiful daughter." He gestured vaguely to the frame but his eyes never left the other man's.

"W-what do you w-want? I'll give you anything, just leave J-Jessica out of this." He gripped the back of his chair so hard his knuckles were white.

Nuri placed the frame back down carefully, turning the picture so it would face the man's chair when he was sitting at the desk. "I still do not know to what you refer, but I can tell you what I want."

The set of the man's mouth was tight, his lips nearly disappearing into a line, but he said nothing in response.

Waiting a couple beats for a reply, Nuri shrugged and continued. "I suggest that you reverse your bad taste article that you printed today and never consider writing anything so… distasteful about me again."

A curt nod was the only response he received. Nuri slid off the desk, heading towards the door. Mujahid had slipped his rifle back over his shoulder, already opening the door for him to pass through. Nuri heard the Editor-in-Chief's sigh of relief and turned around.

"One more thing. I want the names of your anonymous sources for the article." The man tensed up, sending a shiver of satisfaction through Nuri. "Those you send by owl post."

"B-but our sources," Friendman gritted out through clenched teeth. "W-we can't release information on our s-sources."

Nuri gave the man an unimpressed look. "I want those names by sun fall."

He didn't wait for confirmation before leaving the office behind him.

* * *

**A/N: **This was a chapter I have been planning since I started this story. Before I catch flak, Nuri's position IS NOT MY OWN. I was trying to capture a native opinion steeped in a culture that requires women to be cut as a rite of passage. For further reading on genital mutilation and the injustices done to these poor girls (and coincidentally Hermione's sources):

http : / / siteresources. worldbank. org / INTSOMALIA / Data%20and%20Reference / 20316684 / FGM_Final_Report. pdf

http : / / www .popcouncil. org / pdfs / frontiers / FR_FinalReports / Kenya_Somali .pdf

http : / / www .path. org / files / FGM-The-Facts. htm

Again I put out my plea for a beta. I know I have lost so many of you because of how long it's taken to get chapters out over the last couple of years, but I have a good number written and no time to edit them!

**Please review!** I know I haven't been the best author, but I like to know that people are still reading and enjoying my story. :-)


	28. Small Victories

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would have a job...

**A/N:** This is not my year. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I was laid off, again (51 weeks to the day from the last time), and a week later my grandfather finally passed. But here it is! A new chapter!

Thank you SO MUCH to unique0987654321 (honey you have a long name!) for betaing for me, especially taking the time to reread the story to make sure she remembered everything! Without her this chapter would not be posted right now.

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**November 1996**

**Retraction: Boy Savior NOT a Rent Boy!**  
_The Daily Prophet_  
Alan Friedman, Editor-in-Chief

Yesterday morning we at the Daily Prophet published an article slandering the good name of  
Nuri Idris Nasri, also known as Harry Potter, our Savior. We at the Daily Prophet wish to extend  
our most humble apologies for any pain and suffering our paper caused the Boy-Who-Lived.

The staff here at the Daily Prophet were completely unaware that the photograph featuring  
our Savior in Diagon Alley was altered to show Harry Potter's handsome face on another  
wizard's body. The Boy-Who-Lived had not been in Diagon Alley the day that photograph was  
taken and could thus not have been sneaking around like the photograph had insinuated.

None of the Editors at this paper had known that Inna Banks had received falsified accounts  
from the students at Hogwarts, the bastion of wizarding education in Europe. That reporter  
should have checked her sources more thoroughly, and then received permission from their  
guardians as well as the Headmaster of Hogwarts before the article was published. Inna  
Banks has since been terminated for her supreme neglect in a reporter's duties and hope  
that Nuri Nasri will not hold her actions against the Daily Prophet.

We would also like to apologize to the public for any misunderstanding and bad faith that  
our poorly conceived article caused them. We did not wish to portray our Savior as anything  
but the paragon of light that he is. To make up for this grievous error, the Daily Prophet is  
donating all ill-begotten proceeds received from the libelous edition of our paper to the  
Jessica fund for Orphans. Jessica had nothing to do with the actions of this paper and we  
are hoping the Boy-Who-Lived will be willing to forgive our faults to help those who were  
orphaned by the same war he was.

* * *

Draco could not help but be impressed when he finished reading the retraction article. If the Daily Prophet ever retracted anything, it was usually several weeks later in a small paragraph buried between advertisements in the last pages of the paper. But this one was on the front page with blinking text and a picture of the reporter being thrown out on her arse.

Nuri had been missing for less than a day before the retraction article came out. He had obviously gone to the Daily Prophet in Diagon Alley, something Draco was curious about since students weren't supposed to be allowed outside of Hogwarts except for supervised visits to Hogsmeade, and had convinced them to retract their article.

Draco knew how hard headed the reporters and editors of the Daily Prophet could be, he had to listen to his father's rants about it regularly as a child, and was willing to bet the Malfoy Fortune that Nuri had threatened them. It fit perfectly with the boy's actions and attitudes thus far in the year. Despite being the Paragon of the Light, the Somali was dark. And despite being definitively against becoming a boot-licker for a halfblooded, self-proclaimed Lord, Draco was dark.

The students had been whispering and pointing at him all through breakfast but he ignored it with an aplomb Draco had only ever seen in purebloods.

When the owl post finally arrived, five copies of the Daily Prophet were dropped onto the plate in front of him by a small flock of birds, capturing everyone's attention. He simply wiped his mouth daintily before picking up the only copy of the paper not covered in his food and unfolding it.

Every student watched avidly as he quickly scanned the front page, before nodding, refolding it and vanishing the rest of the papers and the food they ruined. He refilled his plate, completely ignoring the scramble going on around him for the students' copies of the Daily Prophet.

Reactions around the room were mixed. The Hufflepuffs as a whole seemed satisfied, nodding to themselves before returning to their breakfasts. The Ravenclaws looked at Nuri speculatively before brushing it off and returning to their food. The Slytherins regarded the boy as one did a poisonous snake, and the Gryffindors simply looked gobsmacked.

"If I could have your attention please," the Headmaster's voice rang through the Hall. Every set of eyes turned to look at the old man standing in front of the Head Table. His robes were unusually subdued, a solid deep purple, matching his somber face. "Due to an unfortunate accident, Dean Thomas, Ronald Weasley and Colin Creevy will be absent from their classes for the foreseeable future as they recover at home."

Murmurs swept through the Hall, the students dipping their heads to one another as they gossiped. The Slytherins sat stock still, surreptitiously glancing at the one student still eating his breakfast.

"I ask that any student willing to share their notes with these boys for the classes that they will be missing, please see your Head of House. Your assistance will be most appreciated. On an unrelated note," he said, his eyes sweeping across the Hall. "I would highly recommend that students refrain from spreading any slander about one another, particularly to any source of media, such as the Daily Prophet. That is all."

The man left the Hall, disappearing into one of the side doors in a sweep of purple fabric and leaving a wave of gossip behind him.

The students that had been quelled by the article started looking at Nuri warily again, the Gryffindors shooting poisonous glares at the boy.

Draco watched the supposed Boy-Who-Lived, slowly eating his toast while ignoring the constant low hum of voices around him. The boy had a tight poise about him, showing absolute control over his body. Draco knew just how difficult that was to obtain, particularly since it was something he strived for and had yet to accomplish.

While the Headmaster hadn't outright said it, it was obvious who was behind the Gryffindor boys' hospitalization, and why. The old man had made it crystal clear, without any actual implication which would require Nuri's punishment.

The boy was practically getting away with murder and nobody was throwing up the fuss that would otherwise be expected of any students being maliciously injured. Not that Draco didn't think the Gryffindors deserved it, of course. But Boy-Who-Lived or not, it didn't seem like a very 'Light' thing to do and, he was surprised the Leader of the Light wasn't taking care of the problem. It made Draco wonder what hold Nuri had over the Headmaster and his lackeys.

Draco thought about the article the day before and a slow, hot jealousy burned through him. The reporter hadn't been wrong, no matter the retraction that was front page news that day. According to the gossip network, Nuri had been working his way through the sixth and seventh year boys at a steady pace, some staying in his bed for a night, some longer.

While Draco had no interest in being a plaything to anyone, he was angry at all the bed-mates Nuri had been acquiring. He wanted to bed the unusual sixth year, but certainly didn't want to be discarded. None of the students, all unsure of themselves and awkward in their own bodies, deserved to be taken to bed by the compact, lethal, dark beauty that Nuri was proving to be.

Draco had never wanted somebody as badly as he wanted Hogwarts' newest student. Perhaps it was because nobody else in this school could match and, if he was honest after seeing Nuri fight his bodyguard, possibly surpass him. Perhaps it was the Malfoy weakness for the most lethal of people. Despite the Somali seeming to avoid Draco, he was determined to catch the sixth year's attention and keep it.

* * *

When Sirius and Remus arrived, Nuri was already waiting in the dungeon room they had been using for practice. He ignored their presence entirely until the door clicked shut before closing his book and returning it to his pack. He would have been tempted to send the pack off with Mujahid, but the man was spending the evening with the mercenaries that were slowly arriving from around Somalia. While the Warlords generally acted fairly autonomously, his aabbe had decided to call in some favors rather than empty out their compound and leave it open to attack for a simple contract.

Samir had been left in his bedroom, under a strong heating charm at the temperamental snake's request. With the seasons slowly changing, Samir found that he did not like the Scottish version of winter and except for occasional outings where he demanded to be present, he slept the majority of the time. Nuri was slowly doing research on permanent, localized heating charms but hadn't had any luck thus far.

He didn't bother speaking until he had his robe off. The excess fabric had a habit of hindering him at the most inconvenient of times, regardless of the alterations he had made to it. Dropping it on his bag, he looked up at the two other people in the room. After the first day had singed their robes beyond repair, they had opted for what they had called Muggle attire, close fitting shirts and slacks with no excess fabric to catch a wayward spell. Although Mujahid had been highly amused by Sirius' arm catching fire.

"I thought we would try some hand-to-hand fighting today, no wands," he said with no preamble. They had been meeting once a week for a couple of weeks and had focused solely on magic. Both men had it in their head that they were helping him learn how to fight the wizard way. As expected, they began to object.

"But we were supposed to teach you how to shield against higher level hexes today," Sirius whined, adopting the most pathetic pout.

Remus nodded slowly, agreeing with Sirius. The first meeting the man had been very reserved, but over the weeks of lessons the man's inner teacher came out and he began to interact more with Nuri, teaching him the names and uses of different spells. While Sirius excelled in the practical usage of the spells, Remus had a breadth of knowledge that Sirius couldn't hope to achieve.

Nuri looked at the two of them not attempting to shift his features into any particular shape. Both men looked rather disconcerted, but didn't speak.

"I find myself preferring to dodge a curse than hoping the spell I put up will adequately shield me," he finally said, his simple statement drawing thoughtful looks from the two men. "This is why we train our bodies as well as our magics. It is our first and best tool."

Sirius looked uncertain, but Nuri could see Remus starting to put the points together that he intended.

"But, then someone could just throw something at your back, or when you're crouching and can't reach your wand adequately," Sirius said, his brows furrowing in a completely unattractive manner.

Nuri crinkled his nose at the man and shook his head once. "Very well then, try it."

"What?" Sirius asked, looking confused. Remus was already backing away against one of the walls, smartly raising a bright blue ward up in front of him.

"Try it," Nuri said, tucking his wand into his holster. "Hit me."

A sly smirk slid across Sirius' face and he said, "You asked for it." He thrust his wand out in front of him and shouted, "_Petrificus totalus._" He looked self-satisfied before he realized that Nuri wasn't there, but instead standing a couple of feet to the left. He shook his head, smiling before taking aim and flicking his wand. "_Tarantallegra_."

As soon as the wand began its movement Nuri was already moving again. He didn't expect Sirius to just throw a single spell again, already wise to his movements, and he was right. As soon as the first spell left his wand he was moving it and incanting another, and another. But with every flick and movement Nuri moved closer until he was constantly moving, zigzagging back and forth in front of the man, using the colored lights from the spells as cover before stepping closer to Sirius.

After the third spell Sirius had lost his smile, and was instead casting rapid fire spells at his constantly moving godson, obviously getting more and more frustrated as the spells kept missing.

"Stop moving damnit! _Levicorpus_!" he flung his wand out wide and right into Nuri's path.

Nuri grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it sharply and causing the wand to fall to the floor with a clatter. Continuing the movement, he stepped smoothly into Sirius' side, twisting his arm up behind him and causing the man to bend in half. He drew his wand and held it at Sirius' back, the point digging into his kidney.

"It is much harder to hit a moving target, is it not?" he asked before releasing the man's wrist and tucking the wand back into its holster.

Sirius stood up, massaging his wrist with his other hand as he looked at Nuri in wonder.

"You have _got_ to teach us that!" he said, his voice growing louder in excitement. "Did you _see_ that Remy! One moment he's over there and poof! Suddenly he's over here! And what was that wrist thingie?" he asked Nuri, his questions coming out of his mouth faster and faster.

Remus was snickering as he dropped the ward and walked back over to the pair of them.

"That was a wrist lock. You will not be learning that today as it is more advanced and requires a level of dexterity that I doubt you possess yet," Nuri said, ignoring Sirius' pout. "Well Remus, how about you?" he asked, turning to the more passive of the pair.

While Nuri certainly enjoyed learning different types of magic and appreciated anything that kept him out of the common room, his main goal laid with the feral man hiding behind a timid mask. He wanted to provoke the man and see what the werewolf did.

He had been doing some reading in the little spare time he had available. It seemed that a lot of folklores had their basis in fact when it came to werewolves and the other magical creatures Nuri had learned were real. While allergic to silver and forcibly turned every full moon, it seemed there was little that could stop a truly integrated werewolf. Silver was their biggest weakness, but for it to do any real damage it needed to be pure, otherwise the werewolf could often fight their way through it, ignoring the little damage the alloy caused them. Otherwise, a werewolf was a force to be reckoned with, particularly the ones that had been magical before their turning.

"Well Remus?" Nuri asked again. Sirius was behind him, physically pushing him forward so it didn't take long for the werewolf to agree, however reluctantly.

"Do not worry Remus," Nuri said, speaking to the man as he set himself up on the other side of the room. "I am quicker than I look and far more persistent than you are used to."

The man looked dubious, but he pulled out his wand anyway, hesitating before falling into his dueling stance.

Sirius had his back up against one of the walls, but leaned forward eagerly, rocking forward on the balls of his feet as he watched Nuri's lazy stance and Remus' wary demeanor.

Nuri waited several moments before raising his eyebrow at the werewolf. "Well? Are you going to cast a spell or should I just take your wand right now?"

Remus paused for another moment before flicking his wand, sending a mild jinx that Nuri dodged easily. The spell was simplistic, something any toddler could cast with a practice wand. The slow moving, brightly colored spell was created to begin teaching the fundamentals of magic to purebloods without causing too much chaos, according to the charms books Nuri had read.

"A tickling jinx? A toddler spell? Even Sirius could have dodged that one," Nuri taunted, ignoring the shout of outrage from the Black heir. "Now please, will you attempt to care about this exercise?"

Remus shook his head before flicking his wand again, casting the hex to disarm. Nuri sidestepped the spell before it even left the tip of the man's wand.

"I suppose a first year spell is a step up, but hardly something worth dodging if I am not going to use my wand against you." Nuri said, not even two steps from where he had started. "Perhaps I have overestimated you. I had read much about becoming a werewolf affecting your mental acumen."

Remus' wand jabbed harshly, a leglocking curse jetting out from the tip.

"Leglocker? Another first year spell I believe. And I had been inclined to dismiss the reports of the dumb wolf." He twisted to the side sharply as a nonverbal spell swept by his head in a purple spray of magic. "And what did that do? Freshen my breath? I am surprised you know that spell. Are werewolves not unhygienic, dirty creatures, prone to lick themselves clean just like any other animal? In fact, why are you allowed around us Adepts at all?"

Nuri spotted a red sheen glistening across Remus' eyes before the man started twisting his wand, the movements flowing seamlessly from one spell into another. His face twisted into a snarl and a low growl echoed through the room.

Abandoning all conversation, Nuri tucked and rolled, watching the man's wand carefully for any indication on where the spells were being cast. In his fury, it seemed that the werewolf wasn't thinking tactically, and kept casting at his body instead of attempting to anticipate where he would be next. Nuri grinned, his teeth bare in a parody of a smile. The growl in the room got a bit louder at the show of his teeth, but it just made him grin wider. The werewolf was stronger, faster than Sirius had been, but Nuri was still going to win because the man clouded the wolf.

The two opponents circled the room, the older man pivoting in place to keep Nuri in his sights, but never moving from his place. Nuri was circling the man, slipping and twisting to avoid the hexes that were coming at a steady pace while he tightened the spiral he was drawing around the werewolf. He wanted to draw this out, to see how far the wolf would go before the man took back over. He wanted to know how much Remus had collared the wolf in him.

Nuri twisted harshly, barely avoiding a nasty cutting hex that he had only read about in one of the darker tomes he had picked up in Diagon Alley. He was surprised that a man so intent on leashing the darker creature within himself even knew the spell. Sirius had obviously recognized it if the cry from his side of the room indicated anything.

The Somali was able to take a rather large step towards the man when the spells started coming more slowly. A glance at the man told the reason why. The red sheen had faded from Remus' eyes and a furrow had formed in his brow. The man had regained control, but Nuri hadn't finished yet.

"You coward." The words came under his breath, barely audible over his slow pant.

He knew Sirius didn't hear it, but werewolves had better hearing than humans. While they lacked the large ears that helped real wolves channel and amplify the sound, the magics had made up for the difference. He saw Remus tense at his words, his shoulders shifting upward in a defensive move.

"You are a coward," he said, louder so that Sirius could hear him, so that Remus knew that Sirius heard. Remus' face twitched, anger making its way across his normally placid face.

"You cannot even cast the most basic spells, you are so frightened of yourself. How pathetic," Nuri sneered. He felt nothing but disgust for the creature in front of him and made sure that it showed.

A growl ripped from the werewolf's throat, visibly startling Sirius who was on the opposite end of the room. Before the older man could move to intervene, Remus dove for Nuri, wand completely forgotten in the middle of the room.

Nuri stood still, watching the feral man fly through the air, propelled by muscles previously unacknowledged and ignored but that the magics had chosen to strengthen anyway. The man's arms were flung in front of him, an ungainly attack that did not work well for anything short of a quadruped. His hands flexed unconsciously, working nails that the werewolf did not have outside of his wolf form.

But for somebody who had not been raised and trained in the midst of a long, bloody war, the werewolf would have been frightening. Remus' face was fierce, his anger twisting his face into an unrecognizable sneer. His snarl bared his unusually sharp teeth, piquing Nuri's curiosity. He hadn't read anything about partial shifts, but he was sure that the man's teeth had been entirely human at the start of this whole thing.

Nuri waited until Remus' fingertips were nearly brushing his chest before ducking and twisting to the side, hooking the werewolf's wrist and pulling it into his chest, causing the man to fall with a crash to the ground. It didn't take long for the man to be up again, snarling and twisting around, trying to get at Nuri, but he just gripped the wrist tighter, shifting to use Remus' shoulder as a fulcrum and turning his momentum into a cork screw motion right back to the floor.

It slowed the werewolf long enough for Nuri to reach into his boot, pulling the knife that he had stowed into its sheath that afternoon. He twisted Remus' wrist with his free hand until it bent, causing the man to give a very wolf like howl as he was yanked back into Nuri's chest, and laid the flat of the blade across his neck.

The second the silver touched the Remus' neck Nuri felt the wolf retreat back into the man. Remus stiffened in shock before going slack, his strength nearly halved judging by the pressure Nuri felt against his hold. The man held in the whimper Nuri could feel trying to escape and the smell of burning skin wafted up to his nose. Interesting. The books had said werewolves were sensitive to silver, just not how.

Sirius was halfway across the room when Nuri had the werewolf subdued, stopping abruptly when he saw the precarious position his friend was in. He raised his hands in a placating manner. "He didn't mean it Nuri, you don't have to hurt him. Just let him go, I'm sure everything will be all right and he'll be back to normal. Just let him go, he's not going to hurt you," the man rambled, taking slow, measured steps towards the pair.

Nuri looked straight at the man. Sirius seemed unnerved by the sudden eye contact, pausing before taking another step. Nuri lifted his lip in a soundless snarl before turning the knife, letting the flat of the blade press harder against Remus' neck. The werewolf cried out and smoke curled up from between Nuri's fingers freezing Sirius in his steps. The man stood in the middle of the room, mid-step with his eyes riveted on the two combatants.

"I would not suggest interfering," Nuri said, quite unnecessarily, tilting the blade again until just the sharp edge rested against the werewolf's pulse. He leaned forward, his lips drifting near Remus' ear. "I should not have won, you know." He paused, letting the silence drift lazily between the three of them, daring someone to interrupt it.

A heavy breath rushed out from between Remus' lips before he spoke. "H-How so?" he asked, staying deathly still.

Nuri tilted his head, contemplating the man cradled against his chest for a moment before responding. "You lost your cool, allowing yourself to be taunted by truth, but that is not where your problem lies." He allowed his breath to drift over his ear, causing the man to involuntarily shiver and press his neck closer into the knife.

Remus jerked back away from the pain, burying himself deeper into Nuri's grip. Nuri took a moment to shift his grip on the man's arm, making sure he didn't attempt to slip out of his grasp, not that he thought it likely.

"The problem lies with your wolf. You have caged him and he does not like it. By yourself he weakens you. Together you will be stronger. I can feel it," he hissed through his teeth, frustrated despite himself.

"B-but the wolf is dangerous," Remus said, his fear strengthening his words and causing them to escape with surprising vehemence given the knife at his throat. "He nearly killed you. _I_ nearly killed you! He wanted to rip your throat out, to t-tear and r-rend until nothing but b-bloody flesh was left!" He stuttered hard, the sound making Nuri smile.

A low laugh rippled out of Nuri's throat. "And he was so successful too, yet you are the one in danger, not I."

Remus swallowed thickly, his neck moving against the sharp edge of the knife, just barely slicing into the surface. He let out another breath before saying, "Do you think you could let me go?"

Nuri paused for a moment, pretending to think before releasing Remus with an easy air. "Of course."

He watched the werewolf out of the corner of his eye as he tucked his knife back into his boot sheath. The man fell onto his knees, his hand automatically coming up to rub at the burns on his throat. He groaned as his hand aggravated the wounds on his neck, the noise spurring Sirius into action.

Sirius dove for his long time friend, looking at the blackened skin in the shape of a knife blade on the man's neck before actually glaring at Nuri.

"Was that necessary?" he asked, his tone rough. He pulled his wand out and twisted the tip in a pattern Nuri recognized from a branch of localized healing spells, but his movements were jerky and angry causing the magics to heal the wounds in spurts and sputters. "I thought you said no weapons, what were you thinking drawing a silver knife against him?"

"I distinctly remember saying no wands. That does not mean no weapons. And would a Death Eater not draw silver when confronted with a werewolf?" Nuri asked, completely at ease despite the anger being thrown at him.

"Siri calm down," Remus finally said, his voice sounding tired and unused. He brushed off Sirius' mothering hands, levering himself up from his position on the floor. "He rightfully beat me and he's right, they would use silver against me."

Nuri gave the werewolf a flat look. "I should not have beaten you."

Remus paused from straightening his clothes to look at the younger man. "What?"

"I should not have beaten you."

The werewolf shook his head. "You were fast, I've never seen someone that fast, and you had silver. You rightfully beat me."

Nuri just shook his head. "No. I should not be faster than you, even with all of my training. You are a werewolf, a superior being in speed and strength when properly integrated. And that silver was only an alloy. It should not have downed you. You are weak, but you have potential." Nuri paused, stalking towards the man, sneering as he took a step back involuntarily. "Did it feel good, throwing those magics at me? Venting that anger, that rage? Did you feel the pleasure running through you with your magics?"

Remus shook his head vigorously, his sweat dampened hair flicking into his face, but his wild eyes told a different story. Sirius stood at his side, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them, obviously unsure of what to say or do.

Stopping right in front of the werewolf, Nuri smiled, causing the men to flinch. "Good. You are dark. Accept that and you will be better for it." He nodded sharply before spinning around, startling both men before stalking to the other side of the room, at the ready. "Another fight?"

Sirius and Remus looked between each other and back at the boy in front of them. They both seemed to eye him warily, as if they had never seen him before.

"Nuri," Sirius began, hesitation radiating from his every movement. "Did you hurt those students? The Gryffindors that are at St. Mungos?" he asked slowly.

A smirk slowly shifted across Nuri's face.

* * *

Draco was at his wit's end.

It was difficult enough for him to ask for help. Malfoys simply did not ask other people for help. Ideally, they already knew it, and if they must, then they learn it from family or from a book if no family is available. If a Malfoy must ask for help, then it is assumed that they ask the best, but in this case the best was perhaps the most terrifying person in Hogwarts, which did nothing to ease his nerves. It also didn't help that he had a schoolboy crush on the person in question. That just made the whole situation unbearably awkward.

Regardless, Malfoys are expected to persevere and overcome any obstacles in their way.

But that would require that Nuri actually be around long enough to corner and question. As it was, the boy breezed in and out of class and was rarely seen in the common room, except for the occasional night when he could be found in front of one of the fires, wooing his most recent conquest.

And that was exactly where he was that night, in front of the fire closest to the dorm room with a 7th year Ravenclaw pawing all over him. Nuri regularly brought his Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw flings down into the dungeons, allowing the other Houses to invade the Slytherin common room much to the Slytherins' irritation, but at least he never brought a Gryffindor down. Although Draco would hope that meant he didn't bed the lions, according to the rumors he did so in dark closets and open classrooms.

Draco found himself glaring at the Gryffindors more than usual, just as he was glaring at the Ravenclaw who's name he had never bothered to learn.

The blond boy was enraptured with Nuri, nuzzling his neck as he practically purred when the younger boy pet him. His eyes were at half mast and his movements slow. Draco would think he was drugged if it weren't for the century old wards on Hogwarts that barred any intoxicants from the grounds, and the fact that he knew how intoxicating Nuri's presence could be. The boy exuded strength and lethality, a heady combination for most witches and wizards but particularly potent for any Malfoy. Draco was just grateful that his father hadn't met the newest student yet. Or the Dark Lord for that matter.

Draco watched as Nuri's hand slipped down the Ravenclaw's back, disappearing completely from sight. He jumped up when the boy's eyes fluttered shut and a particularly sensuous moan left his mouth, heedless of the crowded common room.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco found himself striding across the common room, catching nearly everyone's attention before stopping abruptly in front of the lascivious pair. He refused to call them a couple, even in the privacy of his own mind.

The Ravenclaw never even noticed him, but Nuri did. His eyes flicked up at Draco's towering frame, glancing over him before dismissing him entirely, shifting his focus back to the boy practically panting in his lap. Draco could feel anger from his injured pride welling up, clouding his reason and normally cool head.

"Can we talk?" he asked, the words falling out of his mouth without much thought. His tone was sharp, catching the attention of several Slytherins that had otherwise ignored his presence. Nobody had dared interrupt Nuri in one of his conquests, until now. "Privately," he sneered, his eyes drifting over the Ravenclaw that had just begun to notice his presence before dismissing Draco entirely, much as Nuri had done.

Draco was surprised about how easy it was, really. He had spent weeks trying to get up the nerve to approach this unusual wizard, but had not been successful. Apparently all it took was a certain level of frustration with a hefty level of jealousy to spill his hand.

Nuri seemed to take notice of him again, considering him for a long moment before shrugging. "Very well," he said simply before turning to the Ravenclaw. "Off." One word, that was all it took make the Ravenclaw crumble.

"But… but," the boy's voice was soft, too soft for the fiery student Draco had remembered seeing defending some of the younger years from bullies. What did Nuri do to incite such strong desire in all of these boys?

A flat look was all it took to shut the Ravenclaw up and send him shuffling out of the Slytherin common room. As soon as the portal closed Nuri stood up, turning his back to Draco before walking down the hall leading to the dorms. A couple familiar twists and turns before the two of them were ensconced in the 6th year boys' dorm. Draco locked and warded the door before turning to Nuri who stood in the middle of the room waiting for him.

The boy looked resplendent, that was the only word Draco could think of to fit him. Despite the fact that he couldn't have worn robes before re-entering the wizarding world, he donned his unusual robes with a sense of style that took years for most Purebloods to learn. Without any sleeves to cover them, the unusual designs etched into his arms were bared to the world. He looked ethereal, the candlelight reflecting an alien sheen on the old wounds. The scars almost seemed to flicker and burn, matching their design perfectly.

As soon as the time came to speak, Draco felt his mouth dry up. He had never really spoken to the boy before and realized that how he behaved now could make or break their relations in the future.

"Um-" he began, clearing his throat quickly as he heard his father's voice scold him about a lack of dictation. "I mean hello - hi. I-I am not sure we've been properly introduced." Draco would have hit himself in the head if it wouldn't further exacerbate his lack of decorum. He was grateful that his training had at least kicked in half-way through. "My name is Draco Malfoy." He held out his hand.

Nuri simply looked at the hand before his eyes flicked back up to Draco's face. "Hello Draco Malfoy. My name is Nuri Nasri, but I think you knew that."

His ears had started to burn when Nuri ignored his hand but they flamed a bright red at his words. "Ahem, yes, well I just thought we should meet properly is all." He let a bit of his father seep into his tone, but instead of sharpening the words and giving them an air of importance, it caused them to sound forced and overblown. He was grateful when he was able to refrain from flinching.

An eyebrow twitching upward was the only response Draco received, the small movement somehow making him feel like a complete idiot. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heartbeat.

"That is all?" Nuri asked, obviously amused. "I do not know your customs well, but it seems that privacy was not needed for a simple introduction. But if that is all…" he said, shifting his body towards the locked and warded door.

"No!" Draco said, starting forward a step before stopping himself. "I- I saw you the other day, with your bodyguard." Nuri turned to face him, his face growing dark. He opened his mouth to say something but Draco interrupted him. "Not doing anything bad! You were, training I think. You were fighting each other with wooden sticks."

Nuri's body relaxed, looking at Draco contemplatively. "Staves," he said, tilting his head to the side.

The single word interrupted Draco's train of thought, completely confusing him. "What?"

"Staves." Nuri waved his hand dismissively. "The wooden sticks we fought. I believe they are called staves in English, am I wrong?"

Draco shook his head, "I don't know. I had never seen them before. It sounds like it could be right."

Nodding his head Nuri simply said, "Good."

Several moments passed in silence while Draco tried to figure out how to restart the conversation. "So, staves. The wooden sticks, it was pretty impressive."

Nuri simply nodded, looking at the blond blankly.

"Umm yea, so I was wondering," Draco said, doing his best to keep his eyes focused on Nuri's face instead of wandering around the room in his discomfort. "Where- where did you learn to fight like that?"

The other boy seemed to consider him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing together. "My aabbe," he paused before continuing. "The men of my father taught me."

"Oh." Draco wasn't quite sure what to say to men of his father... his father's men? Who was his father and why were his men so skilled in the physical arts? "My father had a man come to teach me some physical defense." Beat it into him more like, and only the most basic stuff judging from the fight he had seen Nuri in. "But it wasn't anything that advanced, just enough in case some Muggle attacked me."

Nuri cocked his head to the side. "The way you move. It looks like you have more than basic training."

That surprised Draco, although when he stopped to think about it he supposed he shouldn't have been. The most advanced duelers could tell when another wizard was trained to duel, maybe it had something to do with that. But that made Draco wonder just how much training Nuri had and just who his father was to make sure he was thoroughly trained.

"I've been dueling since I could hold a wand." More like spells had been thrown at him since before he could hold a wand. "I could defend against most magical attacks, but if someone came after me with that stave, I would be useless without a wand."

"Staff," Nuri said absently. "Singular staff, plural staves. But other wizards do not know how to move, just throw magics and shield." He sounded definitive, and Draco understood why.

"Yes, well, my father is a bit unusual in that respect," he said, attempting for levity but falling short. At least the language barrier didn't make it obvious. "The Malfoys do nothing conventionally. We are to be the best in everything."

Nuri nodded as if that made sense, which it hadn't to every other muggle-raised wizard Draco had come across. For the third time in such a short period Draco was curious about Nuri's father and the circumstances surrounding the other student.

"But," Draco said, brightening as he saw his entrance. "I am obviously not the best in the physical arts. The teacher had taught me everything he knew, which, watching you and your bodyguard, didn't amount to that much." He paused for a moment, looking at the foreign student but not seeing so much as a twitch in his expression to read. "So," he continued, determined to finish. "I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me?"

Silence stretched between the two of them. Nuri dragged his eyes from toes to forehead, obviously sizing Draco up and making him incredibly uncomfortable in the process. He felt a bit like a deer being evaluated for dinner.

"Are you sure?" he asked, the Somali finally breaking the silence and drawling in a way that reminded Draco forcibly of his father. "This is not generally done for… pretty boys."

Draco stiffened, his lip curling up over his teeth. "Yes, I'm sure. I am not just some _pretty_ _boy_," he sneered.

"Very well," he said simply.

Draco didn't even notice the breath he had held escaping between his clenched teeth. "What?" he asked, the unnecessary word escaping his mouth before he was able to restrain it.

"But," Nuri continued, completely ignoring his interruption. "We cannot begin until after this semester has finished. Over the winter break, I think. I am busy until then."

Draco nodded, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't thought far enough along to consider what would happen if Nuri agreed to his proposal. He was surprised he had even gotten up the nerve to ask the boy.

Nuri nodded to himself. "Yes, over winter. Then we will fight." He looked back up at Draco who shivered at his piercing green eyes. Nuri looked him over again, eyes drifting down his body. "I think I will enjoy fighting you." He smirked lazily before drifting out of the room, unlocking the door with a quick flick of his wand and leaving Draco wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

**Please_ review! _ **Only 8 away from 1,000 reviews! I am so excited!


	29. Fadhi ku dirir

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would have a job...

**A/N: **Thank you SO MUCH to unique0987654321 for championing through the beta of this chapter despite a blown up computer *claps enthusiastically*.

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**December 1996**

"Lemon drop?"

The inane question met Nuri the moment he stepped through the portal into Dumbledore's office. He paused mid-step to look up at the old man who was gesturing to a glass dish on his desk filled with round yellow candies. The Headmaster had summoned him to his office directly after his final class for the week, irritating the young Somali. He had been planning on catching up with his aabbe via their charmed books and then putting Mujahid through his paces, but now he would have to sit with Dumbledore for an unknown amount of time and speak with the man. Nuri shook his head at the Headmaster's offer of sweets, continuing on his path to the only available chair in front of the desk, a bright blue monstrosity with rotating suns.

"And your companion?" he asked, his sharp, watery blue eyes shifting to Mujahid as he entered the room. Out of the corner of his eye Nuri saw the Somali freeze. The man had gotten a bit used to being ignored by these wizards in the last several months and it never failed to unnerve him when one of them paid attention to him. The only other magical person who consistently paid him any mind was the Granger girl and that was a distinctly bad thing.

Dumbledore made a strong gesture with his hand towards the candy dish while looking straight at Mujahid. The black man simply shook his head before taking up guard behind Nuri's chair. Nuri couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips at the Headmaster's disappointed face.

"Well we will at least have tea," he said definitively, the frown dropping off his face so fast that Nuri was sure it had been faked. "Every proper British meeting should have tea."

Nuri looked at the man impassively for a moment before responding. "Are we not in Scottish land?"

The question caused Dumbledore to pause, looking at Nuri queerly for a moment before his eyes cleared. "Ah Scotland! Why yes we are, yes we are my boy. But as proper British gentlemen, we must adhere to our roots and have tea time." He flicked out his wand and summoned a house elf, but before he could request tea Nuri interrupted him.

"British gentlemen? I think you have lost a bit of your mind to old age, Headmaster," sneering at the wrinkled man. "I am Somali, but I am willing to have shaah, if the house elf would be so kind as to make it?" he asked, turning to face the house elf. It was always better to be kind to your servants, to keep them close, than it was to treat them badly and make enemies out of the people that hold your dearest secrets.

The house elf looked at Nuri with wide eyes, opening its mouth in surprise before looking back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded and the house elf gave a wide smile, popping out to do as Nuri had requested.

"So," the old man began, leaning back in his chair with a congenial air. "How has your training been going?"

Nuri took a moment to settle himself comfortably in the gaudy chair, crossing his legs smartly in front of him before responding. "Professor Snape has been adequate. His breadth of knowledge is very good, but he is not the most… efficient of teachers. He likes to speak much about theory before we even attempt to cast any magics."

The Headmaster chuckled into his beard. "That is Severus. He was such a bright child when he was here at Hogwarts. I was a bit surprised he hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw."

The house elf popped back in, serving the wizards their individual cups of tea from a serving plate. When it reached for the last cup it got an extremely confused look on its face, its eyes darting between Mujahid standing behind Nuri, the Headmaster, and the third cup of tea.

"That will be all Misty," Dumbledore said, nodding to the poor house elf that looked on the verge of tears.

The house elf nodded before popping back out of the room.

Nuri picked up his own cup and saucer, shifting the edge of the porcelain under his nose to get a full scent of the tea. He didn't know anything about house elf magics, but they seemed to know how to get anything anyone could want. The shaah smelled like home to Nuri, prompting a wave of homesickness to wash through him. A small smile slipped across his face as he sipped at the shaah before putting it down to continue the conversation.

"While Professor Snape has been an adequate trainer, Remus and Sirius have not been. I have enjoyed my time sparring with them, and they have taught me a great many things about different spells, but the spells are mainly harmless and have little practical use. I learn the same things in my classes or from other students." His face was impassive, looking directly at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore ignored his shaah entirely, the cup sitting off to the side, just out of his reach. Nuri barely avoided frowning at the obvious slight, but brushed it off as the supremely bad manners that the British had displayed thus far. The old man leaned forward into his desk, setting his elbows on the table while steepling his fingers in front of his bearded face. "Oh?"

Nuri glared at the man for the simple answer. "I do not know what you may have intended for these lessons but, my aabbe intended that I learn battle magics, not these pranks that any young Adept is taught in school. It is insulting."

The Headmaster tilted his head forward, peering at Nuri over the rim of his glasses. "You are just sixteen, I didn't want to expose you unnecessarily-"

"I assure you, Headmaster, what you think of my age is irrelevant and insulting," Nuri interrupted. "You British hobble your children by denying them basic responsibilities. You do not make them work. Instead, you coddle them in your nice houses and hide them from the world. Your students will be easy targets for your Warlord when they leave the protection of their fathers. Like a blind chicken, easy to grab and break the neck." Nuri flicked his hands out in front of him, mimicking the movement to snap a chicken's neck.

Dumbledore's fingers folded together, his hands gripping the other hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "I assure you that our students leave Hogwarts fully prepared to be integrated into our world."

Nuri waved his hand negligently. "If you say so. I am not one of your students to prepare. You made an agreement with my aabbe, in your blood, saying that I would be trained properly. Since you are not dead, I assume you still have time to fix the problem," he said flatly, leaning back into the hideous chair.

Several minutes of silence passed while the two men stared at each other across the desk. Nuri had picked up his shaah and nearly finished it by the time the Headmaster finally broke the silence.

"Very well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I will speak with some of the aurors in the Order and see about setting up lessons for you over the winter break. You are staying in the castle over the holiday, correct?"

"Yes. My aabbe will be sending the mercenaries over the break. I have assured him that you secured housing for them," Nuri said, setting his empty cup back down on the desk.

The Headmaster's wrinkles pulled back in shock. "I have secured housing for them?" he asked.

Nuri nodded. "Yes. We have no contacts or housing here. If you want the mercenaries, you will house them. I have a question." He switched topics with no preamble, throwing the Headmaster a bit off kilter.

"Yes?" he asked absently, shaking his head slightly.

"You disassemble quite well for your Order, but I noticed you left something out. How did your Warlord supposedly come back to life after so many yearsdead?"

Dumbledore shook his head, relaxing a bit too much in his leather chair. "As I said at the meeting, we are not sure. We suspect a Dark ritual requiring a sacrifice-"

"I heard what you said at the meeting. I do not believe it. You do not believe it. If you wish to work with me, you need to speak truth," Nuri said simply, reaching for the other cup of shaah the house elf had meant for Mujahid.

"As I was saying," a bit of steel entered the Headmaster's voice. I suspect that it was a ritual that used Ginny Weasley's life force to regain a body. After Voldemort had the body, he left Ginny's body down in the Chamber of Secrets. We never were able to recover it."

Nuri looked at the Headmaster, eyes boring into the man. "And how does a dead man perform a ritual to regain a body? How does a dead man use a living girl as a sacrifice? I do not know about your magics, but the dead cannot come back to life in our magics."

"I do not know about the dead in Africa, but you have seen plenty of ghosts in Hogwarts-"

"Who cannot interact with the living. Yet this Warlord did. How."

The Headmaster paused, looking at Nuri. His face was set, he could feel the hard lines set into it that Ohin often said made him look like a mule. He had seen this Headmaster step around other people's questions, but if they were going to go forward with their arrangement he would not step around Nuri's.

The old man finally reached for his shaah, the tea having long since grown cold. He waved his wand absently over the liquid, heating it with a quick charm. He took a sip of the shaah, his nose crinkling at what was probably an unusual taste before he put it back down and looked at Nuri again.

Nuri sat in silence, watching the man buy himself a bit of time while waiting for the Somali to lose his patience. But Nuri was used to afternoon fadhi ku dirir that would last long into the dark hours with little accomplished. Somali men were long winded and often drifted off from their point when speaking with one another over qaat. He had nothing but patience for old men unwilling to reveal their secrets.

Dumbledore placed his palms flat on the desk, looking at the wrinkled fingers briefly before finally speaking. "It is only an old man's suspicion, mind you. I have been searching for answers for years. I suspected that Tom wasn't dead the night I found you in your bassinet. It didn't make any sense, a Killing Curse bouncing and then not leaving a body behind? It didn't fit. I knew that Tom was obsessed with his mortality, so it didn't seem unreasonable that he would have taken steps to prevent his death. Without a body, I could only assume that Tom had succeeded-"

"Tom?" Nuri interrupted, startling the man from his musings.

The Headmaster paused for a moment before responding slowly. "Tom Riddle was the name Voldemort was given at birth. From what I was able to gather, it was his Muggle father's name. He grew up in a muggle orphanage in England. His mother, a witch, had died during childbirth."

Nuri nodded absently. A halfblood. How, hypocritical. He gestured for the Headmaster to continue when he hadn't restarted his story.

"I assumed he had succeeded in preventing his death somehow," the Headmaster continued, glancing out the window as he told the story. "So I went searching for answers, hoping that if I could figure out the riddle, I would be able to prevent him returning. I hid you at the Dursleys, hoping to keep you safe from retaliation from his Death Eaters and to keep you from whatever Tom had turned into." He looked at Nuri imploringly, but Nuri ignored it completely. Dumbledore sighed before continuing.

"At the time I didn't know if he was half alive, mostly dead or simply a shade. It turned out that he was a shade. I spent several years tracking down Tom's Professors, seeing if I could find any information about what Tom could have gotten into when he was here at Hogwarts. He was a bright child, one of the most brilliant students to walk these halls, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had figured out how to prevent death before he left here." The Headmaster paused long enough to conjure a glass of water, taking a drink before banishing it.

"After many years of effort I was able to track down all of Tom's previous Professors. Most of them were still here, but a couple had since left their posts and proved difficult to track. The most difficult was Horace Slughorn, the Potions Professor during Tom's time here. That man is apparently very skilled at self-transfiguration and I am sure there was many a time I visited his house and walked passed him entirely," the man chuckled, his eyes distant. "But I finally figured him out and got him to speak with me.

"Tom was quite the charmer when he was here at Hogwarts, still is given the number of followers he has amassed. Most of his Professors were enamored with him and his silver tongue, including Horace. Apparently Tom had gone to Horace one night during his fifth year here with some questions about a book he had read. Horace said he hadn't thought anything of it and had given Tom the answers he had been seeking."

Nuri could imagine the young Warlord, handsome and charming, meeting with his Potions Professor in the evenings. He probably capitalized on his half-blood, muggle-raised status to get the Professors to open up to him, to teach the poor, marginalized Slytherin youth about all the magics he had missed growing up. It was very clever.

"Tom had asked Horace about the darkest of arts, Horcruxes. I believe he found a mention of them in one of the Dark Arts books that could be found in the Restricted Section at the time, although I have since removed it. Students are usually not allowed into that Section without a specific purpose, but Tom had enough of the Professors wrapped around his finger that he could get a pass at any time. I wish the Headmaster at the time had been more strict about such things, but no matter."

Dumbledore drifted off for several moments, obviously caught up in his memories. Nuri cleared his throat sharply, bringing the man back into focus, before asking, "Horcruxes?"

The Headmaster nodded to himself before continuing. "Horcruxes. Some of the most evil magic ever invented. A Horcrux can only be made by killing an innocent person. The act fractures the soul and if done in conjunction with a specific spell, a chunk of the soul can be broken off and stored in an inanimate object. If a wizard makes a Horcrux, they can avoid their soul passing on into the next life even if their body perishes. The Horcrux binds their soul to the earth, allowing the resourceful wizard to regain a body every time they lose one."

Nuri furrowed his brows in thought. Soul magics wasn't his specialty, those sorts of magics were generally limited to the brightest Healers and weren't usually needed. Maybe two Healers in their entire community could dabble with soul magics, and Ohin was one of them. Nuri didn't know much, the subject only barely touched on during his training, but what the Headmaster described sounded nothing short of an abomination. And a big problem.

"So how does one defeat a man who anchors his soul to this world?" Nuri asked, staring off into a point slightly over the Headmaster's shoulder. This was a dilemma.

"You destroy the anchors," The Headmaster said, setting his shaah down on his desk. Nuri eyed the liquid. It was obvious that the Headmaster hadn't drank any of it and he felt irritated at the man for the slight.

"I haven't been able to find much information on the destruction of Horcruxes, but I have a couple theories," the old man said, scratching his beard as he thought. "The big problem will be finding them. When I spoke to Horace, he said Tom had asked about creating several Horcruxes, specifically seven since it is a number of magical importance. I would not be surprised if Voldemort had created seven in his quest for immortality. And knowing Tom, he has them well hidden and under a number of nasty wards."

Nuri leaned back into the plush cushioning of his chair. "That is a problem. It does explain the Warlord's insanity. Messing the soul about is not looked upon lightly in our magics."

The Headmaster shook his head slowly. "It is restricted in all of Europe, the Americas and most of Asia as well. As for Voldemort's resurrection, I theorize that Ginny Weasley found one of Tom's Horcruxes, although I am not sure how. From what I have read it is likely that the Horcrux simply sucked the life out of her, giving it to the chunk of the soul housed in the Horcrux. From what I was able to piece together, that soul was given life and would draw the rest of the soul floating about the world as a shade, placing the two bits of soul in one body, although it is unlikely that the soul is mended in the process. Supposedly honest regret is required for that to happen, and I doubt that Voldemort would be capable of feeling regret," Dumbledore said, his voice deeper and darker than Nuri had ever heard before.

"Do you have any idea what objects the Warlord used?" Nuri asked.

The Headmaster's fingers found their way back into his beard, pulling at the various beads and ties he had decorated it with. "Nothing for certain. Tom did not have many material possessions as a child, nor much to call his own in his whole life, so I suspect that he will use objects close to him, that have meant something in his life. I also suspect anything tied specifically to Hogwarts, as he saw this castle as his first home."

Nuri nodded before standing up abruptly, startling the Headmaster from his musings. "You have given me much to think on. But now I must be on my way. Good afternoon."

He turned and headed towards the exit, signaling Mujahid to precede him through the door. He didn't expect the Headmaster to call out after him just before Mujahid opened the door.

"Mr. Nasri, I had one more question, if you would be willing to humor an old man."

Nuri turned, looking at Dumbledore who simply stood behind his desk with a congenial smile on his face. His eyes narrowed and he responded, "I know Adepts far older than you." He waited for a moment, but when the Headmaster didn't continue he barked out, "Speak."

The Headmaster looked startled but quickly pulled himself back together. "About the Howler you received…"

When the old man didn't finish Nuri shifted his stance, standing on one leg in a relaxed posture. "Yes?" he asked, deliberately slurring the word. "What about it?"

The skin around the old man's eyes tensed slightly, but he never lost his grandfatherly grin. "Tom has always been a seducer, it's part of why he has amassed the size of an army as he has despite treating his followers so poorly. Voldemort is particularly good at pinpointing what a person desires most and preying on it to sway them to his side." He glanced over the top rim of his glasses at Nuri, just staring at him.

Dumbledore did not continue, obviously expecting Nuri to answer the unasked question, but Nuri was not interested in playing the old man's game. If he had a question, he needed to come out and ask it or do not speak at all.

Eventually the Headmaster spoke again. "I was surprised by what Tom was willing to offer you. The offer to stand as his right hand man is quite the offer; many a Death Eater has killed to try to curry his favor, but Voldemort does not share power. You must understand that what he offers you is an empty promise. Once you joined him, you would be another Death Eater to dispose of when he has no more use for you."

Dumbledore seemed to grow disconcerted as Nuri didn't give him any sign of listening to him. His stance never shifted and his stare did not waver from the wrinkled old wizard.

Eventually the Headmaster asked, "You would not join him, would you?"

Nuri scratched his cheek, glancing away from Dumbledore as he answered. "I would think it depended on his offer," he finally said.

The watery blue eyes widened. "But he is evil. He hurts innocent people…" he trailed off at Nuri's unimpressed stare. "What about the contract? It was signed in blood," he said, his voice airy and face etched in disbelief.

Nuri nodded, "Yes, it was. And you are doing a magnificent job on your part of it." The Headmaster opened his mouth but Nuri waved whatever he was going to respond off. "You should watch your wording in contracts better, I think. We agreed to provide mercenaries for the little fights and an army for the final battle. We did not specify what side they would fight on, just that they would be there to assist."

The Headmaster paled to an impressive shade of chalk white, falling back into his chair. He looked horrified.

The young Somali let him stew in his thoughts for several moments before speaking again. "But," he began, shifting to his other leg. "I find myself ill-at-ease with the offer. My place is not here but at my aabbe's side. I do not need his power. I have my own army at home. It sounds like this Warlord would not be willing to part once his battles were won. That is not a deal I would take."

Dumbledore's cheeks flushed with color again at Nuri's words and his eyes closed briefly in what looked like relief.

"If that is all?" Nuri asked.

The Headmaster gave a short shake of the head. "I will be speaking with Kingsley and Tonks about working with you over winter break. I will let you know when they provide me with a date and time."

Nuri nodded before turning and leaving the man with his thoughts.

* * *

It was the last Transfiguration class before winter break, something that Nuri had been looking forward to for the last several months. The Professor had grown colder to him as the semester passed, progressing to outright aggression at times in their interactions. She had taken to singling him out in class, asking him advanced questions and taking off a ridiculous number of points if he answered them incorrectly. If he happened to give her the right answer, she dismissed him entirely, her demeanor growing frigid until the next time she got to pick on him.

Professor Snape actually intervened after 200 points were subtracted in a single class period, going to Professor Dumbledore about the problem. Whatever he said must have had an impact, because she was no longer subtracting points for missed questions. Instead, she began to change their seating patterns around randomly until finally Nuri was surrounded by all female students. The majority of the witches of the school had been particularly cold towards the Somali since Hermione's outburst the month prior, so the Tranfiguration lessons were particularly uncomfortable. Every female in the class spent the entire time glaring at him and since McGonnagal only partnered him with witches as well, they took to throwing nasty spells at him whenever they were working together.

Nuri was looking forward to the two month reprieve from the entire mess. He really did not understand what they were so upset about and found it quite unfair that they were targeting him for something he didn't even participate in. Quite frankly it was getting on his last nerve.

"Nasri, with Miss Bones," Professor McGonnagal barked out, not even looking up from her roster. Several of the female students in the class sighed in relief, the rest giving Susan a pitying look. The girl herself looked furious.

Professor McGonnagal was pairing the students up to practice tranfiguring porcupines into hair brushes and just happened to partner him with one of the most antagonistic girls of the lot. Unlike the majority of the female students that whispered nasty things at him in the halls, Susan Bones frequently went out of her way to throw jinxes and hexes at him. The spells never connected, but the attention he had to pay simply changing classes was beginning to irritate him.

He knew Dumbledore would be really unhappy about bloodshed in his school, but Nuri had just about had it with them.

Nuri gave Susan a blank stare from across the room. He refused to move for the prissy girl. He couldn't care less if he obeyed the persnickety Tranfiguration Professor, so she would have to bend her little neck and join him at his table if she wanted to complete the assignment.

Professor McGonnagal had finished partnering the students and most of them had begun to attempt the tranfiguration by the time Susan huffed noisily, slamming her stuff into her bag and stomping over to his desk.

He gave her a placid look, leaning back in his chair and rolling his wand between his fingers.

Susan slammed her bag down onto the desk. "You couldn't have picked your arrogant arse up and come over to my desk, could you?" she hissed, grabbing the open chair roughly and yanking it away from the male student.

Nuri watched her throw herself into the chair, waiting for her to settle herself before responding. "No," he said. A single word was all he cared to give the belligerent witch who was behaving so badly.

She was normally a rather level-headed witch, from what Nuri had been able to observe. With the majority of the students she kept the calm demeanor in the face of adversary that the Bones seemed to carry in their blood. Nuri had never spoken directly with the girl, but her calm temper did not seem to apply to him.

Susan bared her teeth at Nuri in a surprisingly primal expression before turning to her porcupine and jabbing it harshly with her wand.

"Miss Bones! Five points from Ravenclaw. Just because you do not get the spell right on the first try does not give you leave to hurt the poor creature!" Professor McGonnagal's strident voice carried over the other students', turning the girl's cheeks red.

Susan withdrew her wand from the squirming porcupine's side, dipping her head in contrition. "Sorry, Professor."

Nuri snickered behind his hand, quietly enough that the Professor did not hear, but Susan did. Her head whipped to the side and she glared at him. Nuri straightened his posture and gestured toward the porcupine.

"Go ahead. Ravenclaws are brilliant, they say. Surely such a spell would give you no trouble?" he asked, not even bothering to restrain the smile curving the ends of his lips. He smiled a bit wider when he heard a growl escape the normally implacable witch.

"_Lotervo_," she spat. Her pronunciation was awful, twisted by the anger pinching her lips, and her wand movements too stilted. The flick turned into a harsh jab and the porcupine turned fuchsia and sprouted green antennae.

Nuri couldn't help the snicker that escaped. "Apparently not."

Susan's shocked look turned to him and morphed into pure venom. She grabbed the second, normal colored porcupine and leaned into Nuri's personal space.

"You know, I don't usually condone violence," she hissed out from between her teeth. "But I can't say that I would be heartbroken if I managed to skewer your balls on these quills. Given what you do to young girls and their private parts, I think it would be rather fitting." The fury and venom dripped off of her every movement. Despite the fact that she was speaking very quietly, she was still drawing the attention of her fellow classmates. Nuri suspected that none of them had seen the girl so unhinged before.

He leaned back into his chair again, looking at the girl with nothing but serenity. Susan was an angry child, completely ignorant to the furies of the world. If she thought such a simple custom an injustice, he wondered what the rest of the cruelties that abounded in every country would do to her pretty little head. He considered her for a moment before speakin.

"I wonder if a female's parts are the reason that you British girls have such arrogance and temper. Somali women do not show nearly the level of bad breeding. Perhaps it _is_ proper that women are removed of such dangerous anatomy as girls, lest they turn out like you," he mused. He saw the girls around him tense, but kept his eyes on the rapidly reddening face of Susan.

The girl looked a bit like the vengeful angels Nuri had seen in storybooks as a child, her face twisted in absolute righteous fury and her magic crackling wildly around her. She stood up slowly, capturing the eye of every student in the class, before snapping her wand out in front of her.

"_Bombarda!_"

Only Nuri's quick reflexes, honed over years of training, saved him from a destructive spell cast directly in his face. He dove off of his chair, heedless of the desk he toppled over onto other students in the process. He rolled, using his momentum to turn into a crouch, his wand forgotten by his chair. His hands splayed out in front of his chest, a ball of fire forming in their palms when a shout cut across the battle.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here!" Professor McGonnagal shouted, stepping through the rapidly gathering students and in between Nuri and Susan. She stood straight and tall, her old fashioned dress giving her thin frame more angles. She was the picture of severity. "I will not have fighting in my classroom! Explain yourselves immediately!"

Nuri stood from his crouch, banishing the fire from between his fingers before the Tranfiguration Professor caught a glimpse of it. He couldn't help that the majority of the students had seen it though, and he was sure that he would be in for a number of questions once this situation was resolved. While it was an uncommon trait in Somalia, elementals were by no means rare. As far as he could tell, in the Wizarding World they were unheard of.

"Simply a disagreement," Nuri said. He smoothed his voice out, his natural tenor wanting to warble and scratch at the blood rush of battle. He swallowed the bile that accumulated in his throat from the unused adrenaline lingering in his body.

"That was not a disagreement, Professor McGonnagal," another voice, rather more shrill than the rest, interrupted from the spectators.

Nuri turned his head slightly and identified the Slytherin Pansy Parkinson. The girl had decided to hate him long before the whole problem with the witches of the school. She was not a particularly pretty girl, her face too round and her nose too snub for that distinction, but she used makeup and risque clothing as a weapon, making herself enticing to the other boys perhaps to compensate for a lifetime of being ignored. As far as Nuri could tell, she had bathed in the attention the wizards would give her, even if it was not the kind usually befitting a Pureblooded daughter, according to a couple of the lovers Nuri had spoken to about her. Nuri suspected he took too much of the boys' attention away from her. Jealousy was an ugly emotion.

"Nasri was saying a lot of hateful things about girls and how they deserve to have their… private parts cut off," Pansy said, glaring in Nuri's direction.

The Transfiguration Professor visibly bristled at Pansy's words, a flush staining her pale, wrinkled skin an ugly puce. "Fifty points from Slytherin and detention for a week, Mr. Nasri, for sheer vileness. You will not speak of such disgusting things in my classroom." Despite her pallor, she kept her cool demeanor quite well, only the slight shaking of her hands giving her away.

Nuri looked at the Professor and shook his head. "You do not even ask my side of this story. You take one girl at her word. Quite the neutral educator."

Professor McGonnagal straightened, looking down her sharp nose at the Somali. "That will be another week of detention. Given your history with the young witches at this school, Mr. Nasri, I am more inclined to trust their word than yours."

Picking up his wand from where it lay forgotten on the floor, Nuri ignored the students pressing in around them, like bloodthirsty Romans waiting for the lions to rip the head off of a gladiator. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch out his neck before staring at the Transfiguraton Professor blandly.

"Given the history of British witches and their tempers, I am going to assume your female parts have also been left intact."

The students around them all sucked in their breaths, most of them taking a step backward at Nuri's bald statement.

The Professor's mouth gaped open for a moment before slamming shut again, her lips disappearing into a fierce line. Her wand dropped into her hand, although she didn't seem to notice the movement as she stepped forward towards Nuri. The students did and they all took another step back, several of the smarter ones taking refuge behind a desk or a pillar. Professor McGonnagal's other hand rose, her nails like claws as she jabbed her finger at him.

"You heathenish little African wretch - disgusting and ungrateful little boy. Get out!" Her words came out sharp and jagged from between her clenched teeth. In the silence of the room they seemed to bounce of the walls, ringing in the students' ears. "Get out of my classroom. Get the hell out of my class and never come back, you disgusting bastard!"

Nuri grabbed his bag, swinging it over his shoulder as he ducked to avoid her arm.

"No wonder you are an unmarried spinster. What man would want you with parts intact," Nuri sneered, already turning towards the door.

At his words Professor McGonnagal seemed to finally remember her wand, lifting it to point at him with a spell on her thin lips, but Nuri was already half out of the door when she finished casting. The purple magics splashed against the door as Nuri slammed it closed behind him, the wood splintering in their combined fury.

* * *

**Qaat:** A flowering plant native to the Horn of Africa. Its leaves are traditionally chewed, particularly over business and during social gatherings. Qaat acts as mildly addictive stimulant and in banned in many countries.

**Fadhi ku dirir: **I was just going to write down a quick definition of this, but I found a better description from a website.

_Literally translated, "fadhi ku dirir" means "fighting while sitting down." More broadly, the phrase is now used so often and in so many ways, arousing so many emotions, that it's become a key to understanding modern Somali society. It plays an especially important role in the boisterous exile politics of a country up to a third of whose population lives as refugees outside of the homeland._

_"'Fadhi ku dirir' means hanging around, talking and debating, especially if you are on opposite sides," says Adi Galayd, a Somali professor of international relations at the Hubert Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs in Minneapolis. "It's like joining a Dunn Brothers Parliament, a supposedly more peaceful way of engaging each other than by using a gun or dagger."_

* * *

**Please review!** You guys were so fantastic with your reviews last chapter. Heir now has over 1,000 reviews!


	30. Winter Break

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, I would have a job...

**A/N: **Well I survived my first hurricane. After four days without power in a southern summer, I was so done. So here's another chapter to celebrate the return of my electricity!

Thank you SO MUCH to unique0987654321 for championing through the beta of this chapter despite a blown up computer *claps enthusiastically*.

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**December 1996**

By the time Professor Flitwick let the final class out for the fall term, Draco was already up and out of his seat. It seemed like he was not the only one to be in a hurry and quickly found himself in a scrum for the door.

The first elbow dug into his midsection and he stepped out and to the side, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothing with a well trained arrogance that he knew, spoke to how uncouth he thought the other students were being. The Slytherins noticed and looked properly abashed, but, unsurprisingly the Gryffindors paid no mind and were soon hooting and hollering down the hallway as they made their way to their common room.

As soon as the route was clear, Draco headed directly to the Slytherin dorms, brushing off random interruptions from other students questioning him about his holiday plans and depositing his bag onto his bed before searching out the one student that had been evading him all term.

It didn't take long to find the Somali. The boy had made it as far as the common room before discarding his outer robe and bag at the end of a sofa and drawing the 5th year Hufflepuff he had dragged down into the snake's den onto the cushions with him. Draco didn't recognize the boy, but he had a fair face, even if it was too round for Draco's tastes. The 5th year was grudgingly compliant with Nuri's silent demand, his eyes darting around the room like he expected an attack at any moment, but he still draped his smaller form over Nuri, nuzzling under his arm.

Draco watched the older boy speak softly into the Hufflepuff's ear, his deeply tanned fingers running up and down the boy's body, his movements growing more bold with each stroke. He could feel the hot burn of jealousy, an emotion he had become all too familiar with in the last several months. It lit him up from the inside and he had to clench his hands tightly, preventing him from doing something rash that involved his wand and a whole lot of pain.

When the 5th year let out a low moan, clenching the tight fabric that had made Draco a lot more fond of muggle couture, his wand was in his hand and a curse on his lips before he was able to restrain himself.

Letting out a harsh breath that hissed between his teeth he pulled the edges of his pride together, ignoring the Hufflepuff entirely as he approached Nuri. The pair did not pay any attention to him, even when his shoes were brushing against the couch. He clenched his wand tightly enough that he heard the wood creak.

"I apologize for interrupting," he said once he had calmed down enough to sheath his wand again. "But you had said you would give me lessons once winter break began." He directed his statement at Nuri who had barely inclined his head, just lifting his nose from the Hufflepuff's neck to look at him over the boy's blond hair.

"Hmm, so I did." The smooth cadence caused the 5th year to shiver. The boy had not even noticed the conversation, he was so wrapped up in Nuri's form. He squirmed slowly in a way Draco knew released some tension when other options were unavailable. He felt the heat of anger flare up his neck and flush his face.

Nuri ran his hand up the Hufflepuff's spine, lazily and pausing on random vertebrae. Draco could feel the muscles in his neck tense at the slow pace, far too slow for his peace of mind. It took an age for the Somali to reach the boy's shoulder and by then he was openly, if leisurely, rutting against the Slytherin's thigh.

The hand at his shoulder pushed, levering the boy up from his lounge and into a seated position. The blond Hufflepuff blinked lazily, looking drugged as he tried to figure out what was going on. When he saw Draco standing there his eyes narrowed.

"I apologize," Nuri said, rising from his seat on the couch and reaching for his outer robe. Draco let his eyes linger on his firm form before it disappeared behind the flowing fabric. "But I have been reminded of an appointment."

The boy flushed a livid red and he opened his mouth to object, but Nuri leaned down to nuzzle the hair near his ear and the flush paled out into a bright pink.

"I hope we… reacquaint another time," he murmured, but not quietly enough for Draco to miss. Turning away from the quivering Hufflepuff, Nuri scooped up his bag, heading for the exit to the common room without another look in Draco's direction.

The Slytherin sneered at the 5th year, surprised when the boy glared back. Instead of responding he turned on his heel and followed Nuri out the door.

The boy flowed down the halls at a brutal pace, never once looking back to see if Draco was following him. They wound their way through dungeon corridors Draco had never ventured into before, and given the dust and deep footprints littering the hall, he didn't think many people had.

He nearly ran into Nuri when he abruptly stopped before a random door, completely indistinguishable from the rest. He glanced over his shoulder at Draco, his face looking both amused and irritated. He shoved at the door and it swung open rapidly, hitting the wall behind it with a loud crack.

Draco gave Nuri a shallow nod before following him into the room, his demeanor uncharacteristically submissive. He hadn't thought about it at the time in his jealous fit, but if someone had interrupted him in the middle of a seduction he would have been rather peeved too, and very sexually frustrated. And given that he had asked the boy to train him in combat, he didn't think the session was going to be easy.

Not that he was sorry that he interrupted them…

"Get rid of the ridiculous robe," Nuri snapped, finally facing him fully when they both reached the center of the nearly empty room.

Draco nodded and shed the garment, throwing it to the side where it landed on a short rack of weapons. He paused as he took a better look around the room and saw an assortment of weapons anchored to the walls and resting in racks. He turned back to Nuri, curiosity etched into his face.

"It is room for training," he said plainly, folding his outer robe and setting it near where Draco had thrown his. Draco watched his muscles contract under the tight clothing, distracted despite himself. "Has not been used in many years, but I was shown it recently by the Headmaster."

Draco made an effort to tear his eyes away from Nuri's chest and met his amused eyes. Damn. He thought quickly, trying to distract Nuri away from the fact that he had been openly perusing the other boy.

"The Headmaster?" Draco asked. "Why would he show you a dueling room?"

A shrugged shoulder met his inquiry. "His pet wizards are teaching me to fight with your magics. Out of necessity, we need a place that we can not destroy."

Whenever Draco thought he had gotten used to Nuri's unusual accent, a particularly rich phrase would hit his ears and send shivers down his spine. It was a very irritating distraction in the middle of class and did not help him now. He startled back to awareness when what Nuri said pierced through his haze.

"He has people training you?" he asked before he could restrain himself.

His mind whirled with the thought. It made sense. Everyone looked to the Boy-Who-Lived as their savior from war. In his attraction, Draco had conveniently forgotten just who his object of lust was to the rest of their world. But it still surprised him that the congenial Headmaster was grooming this outsider for their battles. It seemed out of character for the image he portrayed to the school, but he supposed it wasn't far off from the old, dangerous coot his father had spoken about when he was growing up. He wondered what else was going on behind the scenes in his school.

And just as quickly it felt like he was doused in cold water. _This_ was the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. The Boy Hero was no longer a random name in a storybook, but the living, breathing boy in front of him. The subject of his nightly fantasies was not just the transfer student Nuri; he was his father's enemy, as was the Headmaster that his father had always railed on about as an old fool. But fools did not conduct secret training sessions within their own schools. And Draco was willing to bet that the 'pet wizards' Nuri spoke of were fully trained aurors and part of the Order of Phoenix that his father spent his holidays ranting about.

"Yes, I have been working with his wizards for the last fortnight. And while we speak of training, is that not what we are here to do?" Nuri asked before pulling his wand out and flicking it lazily. "_Expulso_."

More than a decade of drills had Draco's wand out and a ward cast before the spell reached him. The purple magic washed over the shield harmlessly and shock turned into outrage.

As soon as the spell dissipated, Draco dropped the ward and yelled at the other boy. "What in the hell do you think you're doing, throwing magic at me like that!" At Nuri's unimpressed look he forcibly slowed his heavy breaths, regaining control before shooting an icy glare at the unruffled teen. "I thought we were here to practice physical combat, not magical." His words cut right through the silence and Draco was silently proud of himself.

"You are correct. So why did you shield?" he asked before throwing another spell at Draco without any warning.

Draco had another ward up long before the magic hit him, the adrenaline still racing through his veins from the first attack. He glared at Nuri though the light blue magic. "Because you hexed me!"

Another spell left Nuri's wand and raced toward Draco before he responded. "Your observation skills are good, but as you said, we are here for physical combat. So why shield?" Another spell came at the end of his sentence, this one nonverbal and Draco didn't recognize the bright green magic. He prayed his shield would hold.

"Because you're throwing magic at me!" he shouted as he gritted his teeth, his hold on the shield wavering at the strength of the unknown green spell.

"So?" Another nonverbal, this time a muddy brown color.

"So?" he growled, quickly throwing another shield up as his caved under the brown spell. "What do you mean, so? What in the hell else am I supposed to do!"

Nuri sighed, he actually sighed!, and cast another nonverbal spell. This one a sickly orange and seemed to move slightly more slowly than the others, as if the air impeded its mass.

"Why do you not dodge?" Nuri asked, sneering lightly into the words.

Draco hastily threw more magic into his shield, but the spell melted right through the ward and headed straight for his head.

For a moment all Draco saw was brown, from Nuri's impassive face to the tapestry on the wall that he knew from memory was blood red. He felt a brief moment of mourning when he realized that Nuri's vivid green eyes also looked brown. However the thought disappeared quickly when the brown faded out and the world began to tilt.

It felt like he had just tilted his head to the left. The whole room shifted a bit to the right, disorienting him. Instinctively he tried to straighten his head, but it only caused the room to rapidly shift, tilting dangerously to the right. Nausea welled up from his stomach, rushing up his throat before settling under his tongue, making it feel thick and heavy. He swallowed the excess saliva that pooled with the nausea, hoping to stave off the desire to vomit.

"Dodge!" a voice shouted.

Draco turned his head slightly and saw a bright red light flash out of the corner of his eye before disappearing behind him. The edges of the room wobbled a bit, causing him to take a step and falter, his knees buckling under him in uncertainty.

"You must dodge!"

He saw the blue light coming at him that time, at first in one beam before it split into two and formed back into one again. His muscles tensed instinctively, moving him mostly out of the way of the light before it brushed his ear.

Pain shot into his head from the appendage, the skin stinging badly from where the spell brushed it. The walls of the room wobbled and bent when he dodged, causing him to throw his arms out to catch himself but met only air.

"Better! Again, without hit."

Draco turned his head, trying to locate the voice, but it only caused another wave of nausea to well up. He pressed a hand to his stomach, willing the feeling down, and completely missed the spell that nailed him in the center of the back.

He yowled out and stood up straight at the feeling of fingers pinching the skin over his spine. The ceiling bowed in above him and he crouched to get away from it. He began turning around in a circle to try and find what had attacked him when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

Despite the stinging pain in his back and the nausea running up his throat in waves he dove away from the orange light hurtling towards him. The room tilted sharply to the right and he felt the stones of the floor scrape at his knees harshly before he even realized he had fallen. He flung his arms out in front of him and this time caught himself against the floor, the grooves of the stones cutting deeply into the palms of his hand. He hissed at the pain and shoved himself up into a crouch, looking for the person throwing spells at him.

"Much better."

Draco turned his head a bit more slowly, trying to locate the rich cultured voice in the slowly spinning room. Nearly behind him stood Nuri, his wand out in front of him and pointed straight at Draco. He wasn't sure how the other boy was standing still when the room was moving about so much. He watched the boy's mouth open and wondered just what caused the boy's mouth to warp and stretch the way it did.

"Again."

He saw the wand begin to move that time and threw himself to the side. He hit the ground hard with his shoulder and rolled uncontrollably, the sharp mounds of the old stones digging into his hip and knees as he rolled before landing on his back. He had no energy to move away from one particularly persistent stone that was digging into his spine, particularly since the ceiling was slowly rotating and swelling. He stayed still, hoping that the new wave of nausea would die down before he was forced to vomit.

He didn't even notice that the spell missed him by several feet that time.

"Very good!" Nuri said, the voice coming simultaneously from two sides of the room.

Draco clenched his eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning. He heard echoing footsteps from around the room, growing louder before they stopped at his head. A rustle of clothing followed by a cool wand tip at his temple had him tense, his eyes flying open to see Nuri crouched over him. He was seconds away from rolling over and vomiting all over Nuri's shoes when a cool rush of magic rushed out from Nuri's wand and ran over his body. It felt like he was doused in cold water, but the burning nausea immediately vanished causing Draco to moan in relief.

The slight concern on Nuri's face quickly morphed into a smirk, one that grew wider when Draco glared at him.

"Was that necessary?" Draco asked, lightly rubbing his stomach as he closed his eyes. The nausea had been all pervasive, and it felt a bit weird for it suddenly to be entirely gone.

"You would not dodge," Nuri replied. "So I made you."

Draco opened his eyes when he realized that Nuri's voice was considerably closer than it had been. The first thing he saw was vivid green eyes. He couldn't help but think they suited the boy a lot better than brown had, but the thought abruptly vanished when he realized that Nuri was leaning over him, quite near his face. He felt himself stir and rolled out from underneath the other Slytherin, ignoring the self-satisfied grin that spread across Nuri's face.

He brushed off the dirt he could imagine coated his clothing after rolling around on the floor, refusing to look at the other boy.

When he finally calmed himself, he glanced up at Nuri between his blond locks and sneered. "Made me?" he growled, straightening up and stretching his neck out. "That was entirely uncalled for. You should have explained what you were attempting to accomplish rather than throw spells at me like some common mudblood." The school boy left his voice entirely and he could hear his father through his own ears. He wanted to flinch at the realization, but he just brushed it off and glared at the offending student.

"You wizards," Nuri said, his accent thickening as he turned and dismissed Draco entirely. "You are all alike, depending on your magics to save you. What if it does not come? Or you do not have the wands you all depend on like a babe suckling the mother's tit? Then what you do?" He was several meters away from Draco when he turned to face him. "You move!" he ducked and leaned to the left. "You dodge!" A quick jog back had Nuri at Draco's left and another meter back. "It is harder hit when you _move_. You wizards are all the same," he sneered. "You are useless without magics."

Nuri let the silence lapse between them, and Draco was not inclined to break it. The Somali was obviously rather frustrated, although he was unsure why he had gotten so worked up. Draco had only ever seen the other boy fully in control, whether it be in the classroom or fighting the many female students that had a grudge against him. Even in the common rooms when he is obviously seducing a student, he never looked unruffled. Yet now he was breathing heavily despite doing nothing that required much energy, and his skin was flushed a very becoming shade of red.

Thinking about what the other Slytherin said, Draco couldn't help but agree, albeit grudgingly. Every pureblood he knew that was trained in dueling was drilled in shields and attacks. In a duel, whether it be an official tournament or even on a battlefield, your fight was solely a competition of magic. You learned to throw spells faster and conjure stronger shields, but anything else was seen as dishonorable. Merlin forbid anybody actually _duck_, they would be laughed out of a tournament and likely forbidden to return.

But was that really reasonable? You wouldn't have to worry about your shield holding if you weren't in the way of the spell. Instead you could use your time and energy casting another attack, and if you moved far enough you might be able to do it out of the other person's line of sight and catch them blindsided. As a matter of course, Slytherins weren't against cheating. Why should this be any different?

Nodding to himself he faced Nuri straight on. He knew it would take a lot of practice to train out ten years of muscle memory, but it made far more sense than anything his father had taught him. "You're right. Shall we try it again?" He was determined to master this basic lesson so they could move onto something else.

He felt a bit of satisfaction at Nuri's gobsmacked expression, but it didn't last long. Nuri gave him a slow smile that Draco could only describe as bloodthirsty. Both apprehension and lust curled in his belly, the two emotions rather unsettling when paired together, but he readied himself.

He watched as Nuri raised his wand and a quick flick was all that was needed for a ruby red spell to jet in his direction. His arm twitched, wanting to move and cast a shield, but he suppressed it, instead trying to duck and move to the side in the movement he had seen Nuri demonstrate. He didn't move quickly enough and the spell caught him in the shoulder, throwing him back against the wall and staining his clothing red.

Sliding to the floor he tried to catch his breath, the stones having knocked the wind out of him. Nuri strode over to where he was collapsed and held his hand out with a wide smile.

"Better. Again."

Draco groaned, but grabbed the other boy's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"No, no, no! You horrifying little wretch. You have to _mean_ it. You have to want nothing more than to stop the other person's heart. You have to put enough hate behind it to make it explode, not flutter!" The normally silken voice of the Potions Professor was sharp, angry. It echoed off the stone walls of the barren room, causing Nuri's ears to ring slightly. "You have to want the other person to die, crave it. It needs to run through your veins, amplifying with every heartbeat until you can't remember anything in this world other than the desire to cause them pain. This is the _Dark Arts_ you imbecile! You aren't trying to tickle the other person to death!"

Nuri rolled his eyes, slightly amused despite himself at the stoic man losing his cool. He learned that the Professor did not tolerate anything but immediate success and to just let the man's fury run off of his back like the spring rains. It helped that Mujahid was banned from their sessions after nearly shooting the Potions Master when he grabbed Nuri roughly. The two men just seemed to amplify the other until they were at each other's throats despite the language barrier.

"Now try it again, and this time you had better mean it or I will throw your arse out and you'll never come back!"

Nuri shook his head, he had heard that threat before, before taking aim at the lone rat caged in the middle of the room.

"_Confradio_!"

The rat's eyes bulged and it seemed to contort, its ribs shifting under its skin. A quiet squelching sound followed and the rat fell over dead.

"Finally!" Professor Snape exclaimed, vanishing the rat and cage with a sharp jab of his wand. He sneered at Nuri who simply smiled at him. "At least you are not a complete imbecile. I should make you do it again just to prove that it wasn't an accident, but I find myself unable to stand the idea of laboring through that deplorable show again."

A more elaborate flick and swish of the black wand conjured a pair of chairs and a short table. A house elf popped in, setting down a tea service before popping out again. It was the same routine they had every week since they had started these sessions. The Professor seemed addicted to his tea, but Nuri certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

The man settled into his chair, pouring himself tea before adding a large helping of milk. Nuri tucked his wand away before joining him. Several minutes of silence passed between them comfortably before Nuri decided to break it.

"What do you know of Horcruxes?" he asked, setting his cup down as he looked intently at the Potions Master.

Professor Snape choked on the tea, sloshing a good amount of it down the front of his robes before finally putting the cup back down on its saucer with a crash. By the time he had finally finished coughing and had dried his robes with a wave of his wand, Nuri was sitting back with another cup of tea, watching the man with amusement.

The Potions Master gave him a vicious glare, shoving his teacup away before snapping at him. "How did you learn that word?"

A bland look met the man's outburst, causing the Professor to grit his teeth rather audibly. Nuri rolled his eyes and took another sip of tea before responding. "The Headmaster, Dumbledore talked with me about them. He thinks your Warlord made them and used them to come back from the dead," he said blandly, ignoring the way the Potions Master seemed to pale out at his words.

The usually stoic man dropped his head into his hands, resting all the weight on his elbows. "Oh Merlin, that explains a lot. What in the devil was that man thinking?" He paused, his face pulling out of his hands enough for Nuri to catch a glimpse of a growing flush. "That conniving old man, he lied to me! He said he didn't know, he suspected a dark ritual. All this time he knew!"

Nuri tilted his head as he watched the unusual display. "You have heard of them, these Horcruxes. What can you tell me?"

Professor Snape looked up at Nuri, his face pallid yet confused. "I thought you said you spoke with the Headmaster about them." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement that demanded an answer.

Inclining his head, Nuri responded. "Yes, we talked."

The Potions Professor sneered. "Yes, you talked. And what did you talk about?"

Several moments of silence passed before Nuri finally replied. "He suspects your Warlord made Horcruxes. That he learned from an old teacher. He told me that he splits his soul, hiding a part of it in an object. A Horcrux."

Professor Snape shook his head slightly, his eyes looked unfocused. "It's more than that. A Horcrux is an item containing a bit of someone's soul. But that soul takes the person's humanity with it. They become immortal, but also inhuman, unable to feel the most basic human emotions. There are many people who consider creating a Horcrux akin to committing suicide, since once one is made, you no longer exist truly. If you die, you can be resurrected, but that rift is never healed. You can never go back and be the person you once were." He paused for a moment before a look of horror crossed his face. "Wait, Horcruxes? The Dark Lord made more than one?"

Nuri tilted his head to the side in thought. "Yes. The Headmaster believes he made seven. Good luck or something? I wonder what emotions disappear and which ones stay?" he mused to himself.

The Professor obviously did not find his thoughts amusing, his look of horror morphing into anger. "Love, despair, grief, attraction, camaraderie. Any of the many emotions that make life enticing and the absence of which will bring great hatred and depression. In fact," he said, his eyes shifting to stare over Nuri's shoulder. "This explains so much. The Dark Lord's inherent cruelty and inhumanity. Even his freakish vessel that he adopted after being resurrected…"

"How very interesting," Nuri mused to himself. He had never heard of anything that stripped humanity away, aside from conditioning, of course. And that took far longer to accomplish.

Professor Snape's eyes sharpened and narrowed on Nuri, making him look very hawk-like. "It is not _interesting_, you little barbarian! It's soul magic! By its inherent nature it is evil."

Nuri scoffed at him. "While I will agree that these Horcruxes seem to be, what do you call it, dark magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the older man. He took the Professor's eye twitch to be confirmation and continued. "Soul magic is not evil."

Black, greasy strands of hair fell into the Potions Master's face as he shook his head. "All magic that manipulates the soul is darker than dark. I will admit that most of the spells have been eradicated, but what little is known can be considered evil."

"Why?"

The flat question seemed to startle the Professor who looked up at Nuri before narrowing his eyes. "It is considered evil due to the inherent dangers for both the caster and the victim. Every spell recorded manipulates the soul for the caster's benefit, usually at the cost of a sacrifice of some sort. The ones that don't require a sacrifice are so dangerous that it is more likely to backfire on the caster than successfully cast, usually blowing the wizard to tiny little pieces!"

"Soul magics are evil because they are difficult?" Nuri asked, setting his teacup down on the table before returning his full attention to Professor Snape.

The Potions Master for his part was gaining some more color in his cheeks as he grew irritated. "No, you imbecile. They're evil because they're so dangerous! With very few exceptions the spell ends with death and destruction, whether it's the caster or his victim."

Nuri waved his hand flippantly in front of him, dismissing the words with little more than a wave. "Ridiculous. You have the wrong Adept trying to cast it. Soul magics are important to our Healers. Only our Healers. Only they can manipulate the temperamental magics of the soul. Everyone else dies or goes crazy." He paused for a moment, tapping his lip with his finger. "In fact, they go crazy if they do not learn properly."

A spark of something Nuri didn't recognize lit up the normally dour Potions Master's eyes. He leaned over the table, lanky hair swinging forward into his face with the movement. He brushed it out of his face with an absent-minded swipe of his hand before fixing an intense look on his face.

"Soul magics," he stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing minutely. "Magic, soul magic is used often in Africa?"

"I do not know about the magics in all of Africa. But soul magics are used sometimes in Somalia. I would not say often. I think we have two Healers in our camp that use it. But Ohin is teaching another, so maybe it will be three by the time I return," he said. "I do know that people come to our camp to fix their souls. So maybe few Adepts outside our community can fix souls," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Professor Snape's eyes widened. "Fix their souls? As in heal them?" he asked, breathless.

Nuri looked at the man with curiosity and confusion. "Yes heal. They are Healers. They heal. What else would they do?"

"I had never heard of soul magic being used to heal before," the Potions Master said, ignoring the slight barb the younger man had made. "I have read everything I could on it. I have always been drawn to the more esoteric branches of magic, irrespective of danger." He almost seemed to be speaking to himself, his words were half swallowed and nearly illegible. "But most of the books on the subject were destroyed," he growled.

Nuri sneered. "Everything worth knowing is not found in books. Our magics are passed down by people. A rich wealth of knowledge that cannot be simply… recorded like some story. Only people can explain the magics. Otherwise you blow things up!" He slammed his hand down on the table, startling the Professor into knocking over his cup. The tepid tea sloshed over the table, narrowly missing both of their laps.

"Imbecile," Professor Snape bit out, flicking his wand to vanish the tea set and spilled tea. He shoved his wand back into its holster, catching the fabric in his inattentive haste. "And you are wrong. Books hold a wealth of knowledge that can cross centuries, teaching you from the source rather than through centuries of muddled storytelling."

"Muddled storytelling?" Nuri seethed. "Your society looks centuries old, it has hardly changed! Teaching our Adepts orally lets our magics evolve. We learn from countrymen who share our same values and can teach context. What teachers here speak of the morality of magics? None! And their knowledge cannot be simply destroyed as your books. You cannot burn a person to make their magics disappear!"

The Potions Master's eyebrows furrowed as he lapsed into silence, whatever he had been about to say cut off by Nuri's vehement defense. He gave a curt nod, meeting Nuri's eyes. "Conceded. You said only certain people can use soul magic?"

Nuri looked at the man warily before answering. "Yes. Soul magics are only for Healers. The soul, it is a part of your magics, your core. Any damage to it is a damage on your magics, so it must be fixed."

"You can damage your soul?" Professor Snape asked, finally leaning back in his chair as he took in what Nuri was saying.

"Yes," Nuri nodded. "There are many ways, from purposeful, like these Horcruxes, to accident."

"Accidental?" the older man asked. "How does one accidentally damage their own soul?"

"Ohin once told me of a man he had Healed once that had very many small breaks in his soul," Nuri began, absently running his fingers along his newest scars, the skin fully healed but still sensitive. "The man had not been able to use his magics in many months, so he came to Mogadishu to find Ohin. When Ohin looked at him with his magics, he saw small breaks in his soul. But the damage did not look to be from the soul, but the magics which had blackened and pulled on the soul until cracked.

"Ohin asked the man what he had been doing with his magics before he lost them. The man told Ohin that a famine had come to his village, claiming his whole family. His wife and his sons died. He had tried to save them, but he was not a Healer and his magics could not Heal them. In his desperation he put enough strain on his magics to crack his soul. He did not mean to, it was just an accident," he finished, shrugging.

Professor Snape had paled and winced. "I didn't know you could do that," he said absently, his mind obviously continuing to whir. "Can Healers do anything with the soul besides heal it?" he asked, his eyes flicking up to meet Nuri's.

"Yes," Nuri said. "Many things, including things other Adepts can do. Any interaction with the dead is soul magics. We do not have ghosts in Somalia, that is true, but it is not because they are not made. It is because we lay them to rest once they rise. It is no good for the soul, to be a ghost. It is no good for the living either," he added after a pause. "Adepts good with soul magics can speak with the dead as well. No the ghosts, but the ones that have moved on." He paused, scratching his chin in thought before shrugging. "That is all I know. I am not a Healer and never had interest in the magics of the soul."

Leaning back in his chair, Professor Snape clasped his hands together, rubbing the fingers along one another absentmindedly. "Healer, it is a branch of magic in Somalia? Like Potions?" he asked.

Nuri shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose you can say that," he said, not interested in providing the Professor any more knowledge about their magics.

A short nod came from the Potions Professor, his eyes unfocused for a moment in thought. "Seven Horcruxes. No wonder the Dark Lord is insane," he mused, mostly to himself. "It would be very difficult and time consuming to track down seven objects, particularly since he has probably warded them very well. I would be surprised if he used some of the creatures he's allied with to protect some of them. And inferi, for that matter. With his knowledge of magic, it would be impossible to find and successfully collect all of them. Not to mention, I have never found any information on how to destroy a Horcrux. I had assumed it was impossible," he said, shaking his head. "But in order to defeat him it will have to be done."

Nuri wouldn't have been surprised if the man had forgotten he was there, he seemed to be so wrapped up in his thoughts. He had to admit that he took a bit of pleasure in the way the man jumped when he interrupted.

"Perhaps that is true. I am surprised he was successful in making them at all. I doubt your Warlord is able to use Healing magics. He seems more like a Destroyer, like me. Or perhaps a Charmer, with how many people he seems to have to do his bidding," he said, smiling lightly at the thought.

From what Nuri had seen, Voldemort was a very capable Warlord. He had the resources and the drive to see whatever plan he had brewing through. Wizards seemed to be lining up to assist him, something Nuri knew from experience was not easy to obtain. He wasn't sure why these wizards were resisting the Warlord so heavily, but truly it didn't matter. He was just there to complete his aabbe's end of the bargain. It didn't really bother him who won as long as he made it home.

Professor Snape grabbed his cup and poured himself some more tea. "The soul magic you were speaking of, you said that it can be used to heal somebody's soul. Is it possible to use it to destroy the Horcruxes?"

Nuri thought for a moment before shrugging lightly. "I do not know enough about the magics to say. Maybe? It would make sense to use it to destroy if it is used to heal. I will ask Ohin about it when I next write to him. It may not be until after the break, but he would know."

The Potions Master nodded, leaning back in his chair with his tea and letting the silence lapse between them. After several minutes he set his tea down with careful movements, catching Nuri's attention. The stoic man looked up at Nuri without any identifying emotion on his face, piquing the boy's curiosity.

"I have to ask," he began slowly, much more hesitating than the normally acerbic man was. "There have been rumors amongst my Snakes…" he trailed off, pausing for another moment before continuing. "I know you tend to romp," his face twisted in disgust, "with the other male students. And I usually try to stay out of my students' private lives, if for no other reason than the fact that I'd rather not know." A sneer crossed his face. "But it has reached my ears that you have begun disappearing with Mr. Malfoy and nobody knows where you go for several hours…" he trailed off again, looking at Nuri expectantly.

A wicked smile crossed Nuri's lips. The Potions Master had quite the active imagination, something he wouldn't mind exploiting. "Ah Draco," he said, half purring. "He came to me a couple weeks ago, wanted me to teach him a few things." A green tinge started to make its way across the Professor's face. "It seems he had… watched me in action and could not resist." He smiled a bit wider at the green was replaced by red. "So he asked me to teach him. I could not ignore a plea such as he gave me," he said, standing and turning towards the door.

A voice of steel wrapped in silk drifted across the room to Nuri before he reached the door. "You do realize, Mr. Nasri, that Draco Malfoy is my godson." The underlying threat was easily heard in his voice, and even though Nuri did not fully understand it, he did not like it. "This means that I act as his guardian when his parents are otherwise unavailable. Perhaps you should keep this in mind before participating in any extracurricular activities with him."

Turning sharply on his toes he stared at the Potions Master who's anger drained from his face at the sight of the infuriated Heir. "Thank you for the lesson, _Professor,_" he hissed, taking a step closer to the older man who flinched in response. "I had not heard of a godson. And while I am sure Draco would appreciate the… enthusiastic defense, he has long passed into the age when boys learn from their own mistakes. Would you not agree, Professor Snape?" Nuri let the fire raging within him flicker to life at his fingertips, the flames licking up his hands in contentment.

Nuri could see the Professor's throat muscles work to swallow as the man stared at his hands. The Adam's apple bobbed in his throat before he nodded jerkily, his eyes never moving.

"I am glad we can agree. I will see you next week, Professor." Nuri turned and walked out of the classroom, smiling at the silence in his wake.

* * *

**Please REVIEW!** The last week was so horrible... your lovely words and opinions would go a long way to making it better!

Oh, and _**EXCITING NEWS**_! In January I am going to be headed to Africa for three months! I am not sure which country yet (the projects are in Ghana, Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania)... but rest assured I will not be going to Somalia.


	31. Knockturn Alley

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the HP universe, well I probably wouldn't be traveling to Kenya and that would be a shame!

**A/N: **Thank you SO MUCH to unique0987654321 for betaing this chapter *claps enthusiastically*.

"_Somali"_  
**"Arabic"**  
'Thoughts'  
\\Parseltongue\\

* * *

**January 1997**

Stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the cobblestone street, the cold January air hit their group. Nuri felt Samir's sinuous body tighten around his throat. Despite nearly hibernating since they arrived in Britain and Scotland, the boomslang was insistent on accompanying Nuri whenever he left the castle, which, albeit, was not that often. But it was the first weekend of the new term and Nuri had to meet the first of the Adepts and warriors his aabbe was sending up to assist them.

While January was the height of the summer in Somalia, in England it was far, far colder, something none of the Somalis apparently thought about before arriving. Nuri spent the first half an hour layering warming charms on the group before they could even venture out of the tavern. It was one of the first spells he learned when he arrived in Scotland. Needless to say he did not know of any African magics that did the same.

He shot a warming spell at Samir before the snake choked him and absently rubbed his throat when the coils loosened. He was going to scold the snake when Mujahid appeared beside him.

**"I am not comfortable in the open market like this**,**"** he said, glancing around at the various witches and wizards walking down the Alley, many of whom were staring at the motley group. Despite four months in the wizarding world, the magic-less Somali had not adjusted to having so many magic wielders around him. **"Our group has not been fully apprised of the situation here yet and you want to stick them in the middle of an unknown environment?****"** he asked, his eyes never landing on Nuri, instead continuing to scan and look for threats. Judging by the way he kept tensing, Nuri imagined he found many of them.

Nuri took a moment to look at their group. The Adepts stuck out amongst the British wizards. Ignoring the glaring difference in skin color, the Adepts were standing amongst snow drifts in thin, colorful ma-awis and sandals. Every one of them had munitions stored about their persons, from AK-47s over their shoulders to bandoleers and pistols strapped to their chests. Several of the Somalis were staring at the drifts in wonder, many of them never having seen snow before. Others were looking at the wizards with wariness, although more than a few looked confused. Not that Nuri could blame them. Some of the clothing styles were a bit bizarre, particularly the ones that were trying to blend in with the non-magicals.

His aabbe had made sure to send only those who were adequately skilled, meaning the majority of the Somalis in Diagon Alley had attained mastery, the rest being non-magical. Their scars stood out starkly on their bared arms and torsos. It had become a matter of pride and power to have their scars on display, so no clothing obstructed the view of the various art etched into their skin. Nuri had come to understand how unusual scarring was in the wizarding world, so was unsurprised that many wizards had stopped in the Alley, simply staring at the Adepts' markings.

Others were giving the group a wide berth, their eyes glued to the weapons they were carrying.

**"They do stand out a bit, don't they?****"** he asked rather unnecessarily before sighing. **"****It cannot be helped, unfortunately. Despite the agreement, Dumbledore rarely lets me out of the castle and I won't waste the opportunity to go into the shopping lane I have heard so much about. Besides, they will have to learn about this world somehow."**

Nuri gave a short signal and started off down the Alley, skirting the drifts of snow that were rapidly melting under the wands of the shop keepers. It was just after lunch and a particularly heavy snowfall, so they had to clear the way to their doors first before anyone would be able to venture inside.

They wandered past the bookstore and wand shop, pausing just across from the Gringotts bank where a dark, dank stairwell started. Several of the Somalis were murmuring to each other, pointing to the huge, stark white bank that seemed to be listing perilously. Glancing at the building out of the corner of his eye, Nuri supposed he couldn't be surprised. The bank was larger than almost any other building in Mogadishu, its white pillars towering about the wizards and witches going about their daily business. Many of the people in the militia had come from small towns and had never had the opportunity to venture into the city outside of Idris' compound.

_"This way,"_ he said, turning away from the bright bank and stepping down into the dark corridor.

Unmarked buildings loomed on either side of the crooked stair, their moldy walls seeming to lean in and block the sun out. The walls and the rusted handrail appeared to be permanently damp with neon green algae growing in large clumps.

Nuri heard the rest of the group follow him down, the metal of their guns occasionally brushing against the walls. The grating sound of metal on wood echoed down ahead of them and bounced off the walls, announcing their presence.

The stairwell abruptly stopped before long, the absence of light making the trip look a lot farther than it actually was. The stair ended in a short, fat corridor with a door that was boarded up. Nuri could hear the militia grumbling behind him as too many people tried to get off of the rotting stairs without being pushed against the molding walls.

Stepping forward, Nuri raised his wand and tapped the nails in the pattern a 7th year Slytherin had whispered to him after a particularly vigorous bout of sex. After the wand touched the last nail the sound of cracking wood made more than a couple of the Somalis jump, reaching for their guns before seeing the shifting doorway. The two sides of the door came apart, opening wide like shutters onto a courtyard just as grungy as the stair they had left.

Knockturn Alley was just where the Slytherin had told him, off of Diagon Alley and hidden past a stair. The key was in the pattern tapped into the door. There were several different patterns the denizens of the Alley knew, from ones set up for the Aurors, to false ones given out to the Light wizards who decided they wanted to brave the darkest known Alley in Europe. The elaborate system protected the people that belonged here, allowing them to buy and sell the wares they want to without fear of being sent to Azkaban.

From what he had been told, Nuri knew Knockturn Alley formed more of a pinwheel than a proper Alley, at least when all of its stores were visible. The center courtyard was the hub where most of the business was done. Several short streets veered off of the courtyard where one could find items and services of a more questionable nature. The entire place appeared to be underground, despite the fact that the stairwell had not been long enough to put them under the normal Alley. The buildings all leaned in like they had over the stairwell, and old lines of rotting clothes blotted out what little might have been visible of the sky. With no street lamps, Knockturn Alley looked to be in permanent twilight.

A small handful of people were milling about the Alley with several more hiding in the crevices, only visible if one was looking for the flick of a sleeve or the odd change in a shadow. Hags and hoods abound, many of the shoppers had their faces hidden by swathes of fabric and hoods, and the ones that did not were grotesque. Several of the shoppers and shopkeepers turned at their entrance, stopping mid-sentence at the appearance of such a large and strange group of people.

The newest arrivals shifted at the attention paid to them, a couple subconsciously drawing up their magics and waiting for an attack. Nuri could feel the shift in their stances and the magics they conjured. The wizards for their part were glaring viciously at their group, focusing their ferocity on the few Somalis Nuri knew didn't have any magics. He stepped slightly in front of the group, meeting the shoppers' eyes and glaring them down.

"_Enough,__"_ he barked, turning his head to the side to face them without shifting his eyes from the wizards and witches staring at them. "_Do not provoke them.__"_

The Somalis let their magics go at his words, but didn't drop out of their wary stances. Nuri preferred they were ready for an attack, he just didn't want them to incite one. He knew it would be difficult for them to adjust from a war zone to a comparatively much more peaceful society, but they needed to stay as faultless as possible. They could certainly end any problems if they arise, they just could not initiate them without what Nuri suspected were bad repercussions.

**"I told you we should have given them more time to get adjusted to these… people,****"** Mujahid said, his eyes watching the wizards, witches and hags go back to their wares. Several of the people slipped into the side alleys, their eyes never leaving the Somalis before disappearing into the shadows. **"We are going to have a mess on our hands at this rate,****"** he snarled, startling a hag that had been staring aimlessly at a wall.

Nuri turned his head far enough to catch Mujahid's eye. At Nuri's look, the man glared before nodding sharply and dropping his eyes. **"****If they can handle the civil war in Somalia, these soft Britons aren't going to be a concern,****"** he said dismissively before walking to the shop that had caught his attention.

The sign was barely visible through the layers of grime, but Nuri could still see the faded letters that spelled out 'Borgins and Burkes', although only part of each name was visible. One of the few shops that fronted on the courtyard itself, it was what caught Nuri's attention when he heard a group of 5th years whispering to each other about it. Supposedly it had a wide selection of odds and ends, particularly weapons or things that could be made into weapons.

Nudging the filthy door open with his foot, he stepped inside the dark shop. Mujahid followed closely after him, but apparently the rest of the Somalis opted to wait out in the courtyard. Nuri had a feeling they were more accustomed to sun and light and were probably disturbed by the dark Alley. He paid a brief moment of thought about what they would do when they got to Scotland during its short, winter days, but dismissed it just as quickly. They would adjust.

Stepping further away from the darkened doorway, Nuri saw that there were low balls of light slowly brightening the shop as they moved further into it. Dust floated freely in the air, lazily moving about in the stale room. The whole place smelled moldy and dusty. Nuri felt Samir shift deeper into his clothing after one flick of the tongue to scent the air.

Old, corroded weapons lined the walls and tall, leaning shelves were stacked up throughout the center of the room, making the entire shop look like one giant jigsaw puzzle. Stacks of books were set randomly on the floor, requiring that Nuri step over and around, contorting in order to slip between two sets of shelves and get a better look at the bottled potions ingredients on one shelf.

"See anything you like?" a crackly, old voice floated out from behind a tall counter. "Five eyes for a galleon, mix-and-match if you choose. Two tails for a sickle, except the mermaid tails. Those are fifty galleons." The hissing voice trailed off in a coughing fit.

Nuri stepped around the last set of shelves, ducking under a slimy string of tentacles before stopping in front of a line of counters. An old man unfolded himself from a crouch, his rolled shoulders shaking with short coughs and white, lanky hair shielding his craggy face. When he finally hacked something up into a dirty cloth, he turned to face the two Somalis standing in front of the counter.

"Is there something in particular I can help you find?" his voice cracked, sounding shaky and beleaguered with pneumonia. "We have a large array of weaponry from the last goblin rebellion that just came in. Those goblins are surprisingly creative sadists. Or perhaps you would like a cursed watch for your ex-wife's new husband? Guaranteed that his testicles will never grow back," he wheezed, his laugh reminding Nuri of coffins creaking as they were closed.

Looking around the shop curiously, Nuri turned to the ancient man. "Do you have any daggers?" he asked, ignoring Mujahid's disgusted look as one of the hanging tentacles reached down to grab his ponytail.

Some more wheezing laughs came from man's wrinkled throat, the liver spots jumping with each laugh. "I do, my boy. I do. Come with me," he gestured, heading over to a long counter on the other side of the room. Its glass was thick with grime, making it impossible to see through. With a wave of the shopkeeper's knobbly wand, the glass disappeared, showcasing a large array of intricate daggers. "We have daggers that are laced with liquid silver, self-refilling. Some come preloaded with poison, your choice between snake and spider. If you have another poison you wish to use, it costs extra."

The shopkeeper gestured towards a group of rather nondescript knives. "These are cursed daggers, from organ shriveling to blood boiling. There is one particularly interesting one that curses the wielder to kill all their pets, a funny story behind that one," he laughed, coughing with every chuckle. "This beauty down here is vampiric. Never been able to find another one like it. What do you need to kill?" he asked, his eyes surprisingly clear when he turned to Nuri.

"Wizards," Nuri said absently, his eyes running down the assortment. He would definitely need to speak with the Builders about all the ideas the wizarding world was giving him. Charming the weapons. Brilliant. "And werewolves. Maybe vampires, but I do not find that likely."

The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at Nuri. "Wizards? Any kind of wizards in particular?"

Nuri glanced at the old man from the side of his eye. "I believe that may be none of your business. I wish to buy several of these… cursed daggers. Only the painful ones. And all of your silver daggers."

The old man stood still for several moments, simply looking at Nuri, before nodding sharply and levitating a dozen knives out of the case and straight into a bag that looked far too small to fit them all.

When the last dagger disappeared into the spelled shopping bag, the shopkeeper turned around with surprising agility, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes," Nuri said, his eyes wandering across the dusty shelves. "What else have you for weapons?" he asked.

A smile cracked the old man's face. "Many, many things. Let me show you!" he slipped through the narrow aisles lightly, making Nuri question just how old he really was. Putting it out of his mind he followed behind him, albeit at a much slower pace.

* * *

It was just short of an hour when Nuri emerged from Borgins and Burkes, carrying a single small shopping bag that was entirely misleading. He figured he had half the weaponry that had been stored in that dingy shop shrunken down into his bottomless, weightless bag.

Without having to focus on the day-to-day strife of a war zone, the British wizarding populace had come up with many creative ways to overcome hurtles with their magics. While Nuri was certain a Somali somewhere would have certainly thought of some of these things, that individual having the time or means to develop them was unlikely.

Nuri blinked as he stepped out of the shadowed shop and back onto the courtyard where the militia was lounging around, speaking with one another while waiting for him to finish up in the small shop. While Knockturn Alley still looked like it was bathed in perpetual twilight, it was significantly brighter than the darkened shop had been and it took a moment for Nuri's eyes to readjust to the sudden influx of light.

At the sight of the Warlord's heir the Somalis stood, all their attention on the boy. But Nuri's mind was elsewhere, running through the hundreds of different ideas he wanted to discuss with the Builders when he returned home. He stepped further into the courtyard, not even noticing Mujahid's signal to form up and follow.

He was just beginning to form a mental list of enchantable objects when the first spell flew by his head and impacted the Adept behind him, ripping his stomach open and showering those closest to him in blood and gore. Nuri instinctively crouched, his wand in his off hand before he even had time to process the fact that he was covered in blood.

Shadows were crawling along the walls of the unusually empty courtyard. Nuri was mentally kicking himself for not noticing the dearth of people in what had been a fairly full Alley. But when one of the shadows slipped out from behind a scrap pile of wood and sent a bright purple hex sailing towards him, he dismissed the thought entirely and dove out of the path.

The Somalis had already scattered behind him, taking refuge behind various carts, doors and debris that littered the Alley. It did not take long for the silent courtyard to explode in bursts of noise, the bullets from the AK-47s ripping through the empty space and tearing apart the old brick that lined the walls. Dust filled the air from the fragmented mortar and the flash of gun fire lit it up, reminding Nuri forcibly of home.

He pushed away the wave of homesickness and crouched behind a barrel, allowing flames to pool in his hand while he watched the hidden wizards hide from the gunfire before reforming behind shields. In the confusion concussion of sound and light, he vaguely saw the figures, obviously wizards covered from head to toe in black cloth that reminded Nuri of the niqab the women from the more conservative towns favored.

Brushing the errant thought aside, Nuri lobbed the fireball over the barrel like a grenade. He watched the small ball of fire land a short way from the group before exploding in bits of plasma. The flamelets caught on the niqabs, quickly turning several of the wizards into flailing infernos.

The impromptu torches lit up the dark courtyard, turning the shadows into wizards with long black robes and bone white masks. Pulling out his Firestar, Nuri took aim at the closest wizard and fired, breaking the mask in two and sending blood flying. The wizards next to the unfortunate man ducked behind a couple full trash cans, sticking their wands out from between tin cans and rotted fruit to throw spells at him.

Nuri ducked back down behind his barrel, letting the spells fly past him in a halo of reds, greens and purples, waiting for the pause that always came during battle. Usually it happened when the enemy needed to reload a gun, but Nuri was hoping the men would wear themselves out.

He took the moment to glance down at the other Somalis. Several were dead, their bodies strewn across the pavement. A surprising number of the dead appeared unharmed, making Nuri wonder just what spell had killed them. But the majority of the militia was sending a steady stream of bullets and magics across the courtyard at the bulk of the attackers. The spells being thrown back at them had noticeably diminished and the Somalis were starting to push across the courtyard to weed out the last of them.

Samir slithered down Nuri, slipping sightlessly past the barrel. Nobody was looking at the ground, too intent on the other side to pay something so unnecessary attention. Nuri heard a quiet cry as Samir reached the other side, probably biting the ankle of the first wizard he came across. Boomslang poison was not something you survived. Nuri hoped that Samir had enough in him to last for a while.

It took a bit longer than Nuri would have liked, but finally the spells from his attackers slowed down, flying past in an erratic but predictable pattern. Waiting for his opening, Nuri took a deep breath, drawing up the hot magics he had grown so accustomed to. He had another flame grenade pooling on one hand while the other was channeling the fire in a tight line continually pouring from the tip of his wand.

When the break between spells finally came Nuri moved, swinging around the barrel as he threw the fireball. He spun out of the way of a spell that was immediately sent towards him, throwing out his wand hand in an arc. The flame from his wand turned into a whip, lashing out and following the movement of his wand.

He smiled wickedly at the sound of two different screams as the whip made contact with the closest attackers. Flicking the wand again, he silenced them entirely, severing them in two.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the movement of a wand and he ducked, just barely avoiding a bright green spell as it sailed over his head and splashed uselessly against a window. He flung his arm out in the direction of the attack and a large crash sounded as the attackers' shield was destroyed.

It didn't take long for the hail of gunfire to take down the last of the wizards, particularly with Nuri aiming to rid them of their impromptu shields, and wand arms whenever he could aim for them.

He dismissed the sputtering flames as the last of the attackers fell. A cheer went up from the militia, not nearly as loud as the popping gunfire, but the sound still echoed off of the decrepit walls.

The courtyard was in shambles. The ancient buildings had not held up well to rifle caliber bullets and whole chunks of wall had caved in under the onslaught. It looked like several of their attackers had been killed by falling bricks, a truly embarrassing way to die in battle.

The Somalis were just starting to raid their attackers' bodies, rifling through their pockets when a loud clang went through the Alley. Guns were immediately up and pointed in random directions, looking for a new attack in every corner. Nuri had already summoned up a small ball of flame when a movement at the edge of his eye caught his attention.

The bricks that had not been reduced to dust were moving quickly and forming solid walls over what Nuri knew had just been alleys of stores off of the courtyard. Old, rotten boards slipped over the windows and doors of several of the shops that had opened up onto the courtyard itself making them look long since abandoned and not the thriving stores Nuri had seen when they had arrived. In less than a minute, all of the side streets were gone leaving one large and well lit alleyway at the far end of the courtyard, making Knockturn Alley look like a proper shopping street. Only a couple stores were still open, including Borgins and Burkes, but the wares they displayed were mild and looked completely innocuous compared to the body parts and wicked sharp weapons that had been proudly on display.

With a last loud bang, the doorway out of Knockturn Alley slammed open and wizards in maroon robes started swarming through the portal, wands drawn and held rigidly out in front of their bodies. The wizards fanned out across the courtyard-cum-alley in rough formations, pointing their wands directly at the Somalis.

The militia cocked their rifles, pointing them straight at the wizards' heads, causing more than one wizard to flinch and duck out of the way and scattering their formations into unrecognizable patterns. The wizards that didn't move looked at their colleagues with some trepidation, but kept their wands raised.

"Aurors!" one of the maroon clad wizards shouted, stepping forward towards one particularly burly Adept. "Drop your wands and put your hands where I can see them!"

The Somalis didn't move, the whites of their eyes flashing as they looked towards Nuri who had already dismissed his fire and had not raised his wand. The Adepts shifted from foot to foot, their hands moving minutely as they called up and made adjustments to their magics. The adrenaline from the battle had not yet worn off, and most of the Somalis were ramped up and ready to do more damage.

The silence in the Alley was tense. The aurors were probably already nervous about entering such a notorious part of the wizarding world. Nuri knew when they had finally seen the bodies littering the ground because they visible tensed, taking extra care to give the bodies a wide berth while keeping their eyes on what they probably saw as the perpetrators.

The first wizard growled. "I said drop your wands, or we will be forced to make you."

Nobody moved, the Somalis not understanding the command that would have been impossible, and the wizards probably unused to the lack of compliance. Both sides were getting worked up and just waiting for something to happen.

One of the aurors finally had enough, stepping towards an Adept and digging his wand into the man's neck. "He said drop your wand, you scum bag," he sneered, getting rudely close to the Somali's face.

When Nuri heard the telltale click of a cartridge being chambered, he decided to act. His commanding voice cut through the Alley, every eye turning to land on him.

"Sheel! _Stop. Do not attack. I will handle this,"_ he ordered, taking a step forward, away from the other Somalis. As soon as he moved every wand swung around to point at him.

The rest of the militia reholstered their guns, startling one auror into releasing a spell that flew wide, bouncing harmlessly off of a pile of bricks before shattering a window. The Adepts ignored her completely, turning their full attention to Nuri.

Facing the first auror Nuri finally spoke. "They do not have wands to drop."

The auror looked startled, his eyes flicking around at the Adepts before refocusing on Nuri. "They don't?" he asked rather unnecessarily. Nuri didn't bother to respond. "Somehow I don't believe you," he sneered, keeping his wand leveled between Nuri's eyes. "Then how do you explain all of this?" he asked derisively, gesturing vaguely to the downed bricks and dead bodies.

Nuri lazily glanced around the Alley, taking the time to estimate how far away from his militia the aurors were, ignoring the bodies and decrepit shop fronts with ease.

Turning back to face the snotty auror, Nuri said, "To me it looks like magics and guns." Several aurors flinched at Nuri's last word. "Just not _your_ magics."

The wizard opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted.

"Harry Potter?" a wan voice carried over the aurors from near the entry way. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

The other aurors started murmuring to each other, never taking their eyes off of the young savior. The wands slowly began dropping from their drawn positions as their murmurs grew louder.

"Is it really-"

"-you think?"

"Can't be, not down here."

Nuri tilted his head to the right and saw the auror who had identified him, a younger wizard with wide eyes and sandy blond hair staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear.

He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead staring straight at the auror and responding. "My name is Nuri Idris Nasri." He heard several aurors let out the breaths they were holding but didn't bother to pause. "But I am also known by you wizards as Harry Potter."

The sighs of relief quickly sounded strangled, one man actually choking on his surprise. The original auror who spoke to him was gaping like a fish, his mouth opening and closing in a most unattractive manner.

An auror with several stripes lining the sleeves of his robes stepped forward, reholstering his wand before barking out orders.

"Beauvoir, Scott and Templeton, check these wizards to see if any of them need medical assistance or if we just need to call the mortician." He gestured vaguely to the bodies littering the ground. "Devier and Armstrong, you two check out Mr. Potter's men and see if any of them could use a mediwizard. Zucker, put out these fires. Crowley stop gaping like a fool and start fixing these storefronts. We don't need any more of these bricks falling down on our heads."

The aurors snapped out of their stupors and started running around the Alley at the behest of what Nuri assumed was the head auror. Wands were out, scanning the bodies for signs of life. From the way they were shaking their heads and the ferocity of the battle, Nuri doubted they would find any. He felt the touch of something moving on his boot and forced himself to stay still as Samir slithered up his pant leg. His coils wrapped sinuously around his calf until he had a firm hold and he stayed there. Nuri imagined that the snake didn't want to deal with the wizards any more than Mujahid probably wanted to.

"So, Mr. Potter," the head auror said, stepping carefully over bricks and bodies to reach his side.

"Nasri, please," he said, his tongue rolling over the familiar name with ease.

The auror paused, one foot in the air before nodding and stepping over a large beam. "Mr. Nasri. We received an urgent alert at the Ministry not fifteen minutes ago about extremely high levels of magical activity in Knockturn Alley. We came down here expecting a full scale war and we find a cold battlefield. What happened here?"

Glancing around the alley Nuri could see that the aurors were not giving his militia any problems, aside from scanning Somalis that did not want to be bothered. Assuring himself that his countrymen were fine he turned his attention to the auror.

"We came here to pick up supplies. As we were leaving, these men ambushed us," he said, nodding towards the dead wizards. "We defended."

Looking down at the bodies the head auror raised an eyebrow and looked back at Nuri. "Quite the defense," he said. "I don't think my aurors could have defended themselves half as well. Nor would they have done it so viciously," he said, gesturing to a body that had been ripped open by close range rifle rounds.

"Ahh," Nuri said, nodding slowly. "Unfortunately our guns do not kill as cleanly as your magics."

The head auror's eyes flicked down to the butt of the AR-15 strapped to Nuri's back, a permanent accessory whenever he left the castle even though he rarely used it anymore. The auror just nodded, turning and crouching over an intact body lying near his feet.

"Death Eaters," he said simply, pointing to the bone white mask that covered the man's face. He turned his head, eyes traveling over the debris of the battle. "And it looks like a rather large contingent of them. Your men were lucky."

Nuri scoffed. "Hardly."

The head auror's eyes darted back up to meet his, wariness dancing behind his brown irises. It only lasted a moment before the wizard turned his eyes back to the body, hooking the tips of his fingers under the edge of the mask before pulling it off. With a low pop the mask came off and a fall of platinum blond hair fell out and fanned out on the grimy cobblestones. A sharp nose and chin jutted up towards the sky, a nose Nuri imagined the man had only ever looked down from at the world. The skin was fair and unblemished, the kind of skin that could only belong to an aristocrat.

The auror sucked in a sharp breath before letting it whoosh back out, gaping at the dead man's face.

The man looked familiar, and when Nuri saw the glassy grey eyes, he knew why. He was going to be in so much trouble when a certain blond found out.

"Lucius Malfoy."

* * *

**Niqab:** The veil worn over a face in conjunction with a hijab. While a burqa would be more apt for the uniform of the Death Eaters, I thought the likeliness that he would have seen and known about such a garment low given the time periods he was in Somalia.

**Sheel:** Stop (Somali)

* * *

**Authors Notes: **I loved writing this chapter and took liberties with the Harry Potter world, although I did try to tie it back to canon as much as possible.

Good news and bad news! The good news is that I will be traveling to Kenya to work on a water and garden project in Kisumu in January. So excited!

The bad news is that the development project is more time intensive than I had initially anticipated and while I'm excited for the experience, I will not have much spare time in which to write. I won't be able to update at all January through March and it is looking like the chance that I will have to update before I leave is quite low.

I will try to carve out some time to write, but it may well be April/May before I get a chance to update again. :-( With that said, thank you _so much_ to everyone that has stuck with me for what I know has been a long ride. I will never abandon this story; I have too much of it planned out!

**_Please_ _Review!_**


End file.
